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] documents concerned with the struggle, relates that Pius IX. used to distinguish three periods of the Council: the preparations; the assemblies; the conclusion. Of these, the first period was Satanic, the second Human, the third Divine.

But before a minority Bishop could assent to the new Decree, there were questions to be faced and answered; questions which he must answer in his own behalf, and which also he was certain to find assailing him, whether from his Clergy or Laity, who like himself had hitherto deprecated the doctrine or disbelieved it. There was the question, perhaps, first of all, Is this Council ecumenical? Is it a true exponent of the Universal Church? There are Councils of many kinds, with varying degrees of authority, legitimately responded to with varying degrees of respect. Is this Council of the highest kind—that which possesses a real and absolute finality? This question was widely debated within the Roman body. It was said by high authorities in the Roman Communion that the Vatican Council did not fulfil the conditions of freedom essential to the creation of a dogma of the faith. Many writers of the period assert this; some in the most impassioned terms. Hefele emphatically declared it. Some affirmed that moral unanimity was essential to representation of the Universal Church. Such unanimity, it was notorious, the vote for Infallibility did not possess. Accordingly there was no rush of the defeated Bishops into immediate acquiescence. On the contrary, there was suspense, uncertainty, delay. Individual isolated Bishops took no decided steps. They waited to see what others would do, what time would produce, what thought and reflection might suggest.

Fessler, indeed, late Secretary of the Vatican


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


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 The facility contained other storage containers labeled with biohazard signs and medical cabinets filled with what authorities later identified as highly flammable, explosive, and corrosive chemicals. They also found trace narcotics, laboratory equipment, and hundreds of boxes containing faulty medical devices subject to an FDA health embargo. The warehouse’s electrical system was jury-rigged to power over 30 of these freezers.

''Figure 3 and 4 - Blood and fluids found in two of the thirty refrigerators and deep freezers of the Reedley Biolab. Source: City of Reedley.''

''Figures 5, 6, and 7 - Bags labelled "MDMA," “Coca,” and “Met” found in freezers in the Reedley Biolab. “Coca” and “Met” presumably mean “cocaine” and “methamphetamine,” respectively. Other bags found were labelled “THC” and “Amp” (likely meaning “amphetamine”). Source: City of Reedley.''

Approximately 1,000 mice were kept in inhumane, overcrowded conditions. When local officials asked a worker who “appeared to be in control” of the mice, she replied that they were transgenic mice that simulate the human immune system that were “genetically engineered to catch and carry the COVID-19 virus.”

In subsequent interviews with individuals who were at the warehouse, local officials learned that workers were tasked with caring and cleaning for the mice and, on numerous occasions, the Reedley Biolab operators had held back their pay. One of the workers who tended to the mice told Officer Harper that he and his

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 278 Assembly, assured them that their course was clear. He drew a sketch of the conduct which he considered would be ideal for a perplexed Bishop under these trying circumstances.

This portion of Fessler's advice was not much use since it appeared subsequently to the final Session. Whether the advice to "acquire a full conviction" in the interval between the last General Congregation and the Solemn Session would have been very valuable, may be judged from the fact that the interval for "discourse with other theologians," "study and prayer," was two days. The subsequent struggles will show what the minority Bishops thought of acquiring a full conviction in two days.

Should, however, the best use of the interval prove unavailing, Fessler's advice was as follows:—

"Nay, even if he cannot attain this full conviction and insight into the matter by any exertion of his own, he will wait for the decision of the Council with a calm trust in God, without himself taking part in it, because up to this point he lacks the necessary certainty of conviction. When, however, the Council by its decision puts an end to the matter, then at length his Catholic conscience tells him plainly what he must


text: The Earth Turns South/Awakening

title: The Earth Turns South/Awakening


text: The Earth Turns South/Her Room

title: The Earth Turns South/Her Room


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 ] now think, and what he must now do; for it is then that the Catholic Bishop, whom hitherto unsolved difficulties have kept from participation in the Public Session, and from the solemn voting, says: 'Now it is undoubtedly certain that this doctrine is revealed by God, and is therefore a portion of the Catholic faith, and therefore I accept it on faith, and must now proclaim it to my clergy and people as a doctrine of the Catholic Church. The difficulties which hitherto made it hard for me to give my consent, and to the perfect solution of which I have not even yet attained, must be capable of a solution; and so I shall honestly busy myself with all the powers of my soul to find their solution for myself, and for those whose instruction God has confided to my care."

Fessler omits all recognition of the possibility that men if placed in a dilemma between Authority and History may choose the latter. The effect of the Decree on many Bishops was not in the least to compel the confession, 'Now it is undoubtedly certain that this doctrine is revealed': rather it was to awaken the criticism, now it is profoundly uncertain whether this Council is ecumenical.

Such is Fessler's advice to Bishops who doubted the truth of the doctrine. To those who only considered its definition inopportune his counsel was:—

"Those Bishops who in the last General Congregation voted with the non placets, only because they really thought it was not a good thing, not necessary, not for the benefit of souls in countries well known to them, and who for this reason abstained from taking part in this decision, may after the solemn decision, if they think it advisible, represent to the faithful of their dioceses the position which they previously adopted towards the doctrine, in order that their conduct may not be misunderstood. But they must now themselves


text:
Afghanistan

In the land of Afghanistan There’s a Hindu maid and a man She swore by the stars up above her That he was the one to love her But there came another one day Stole his Hindu maiden away Hindu man is lonely and blue In his dreams he’s calling to her

Chorus In Afghanistan, there’s a caravan By the fair oasis waiting for you And for you only Cross the desert sand we will find a temple There will be a bridal day for you my idol In Afghanistan

All the wealth of Afghanistan Cannot ease the heart of this man Tho’ the stars with splendor are shining Hindu’s heart can’t stop it’s pining Though he’s trying hard to forget He has hopes and dreams of her yet Thinking that she’ll come back some day To his idol he keeps praying

title: Afghanistan


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 280 unhesitatingly accept the doctrine which has been decided, and make it known to their people in its true and proper bearings, without reserve, and in such a manner that the injurious effects which they themselves apprehended may be as much as possible obviated and removed; for it is not permitted to the Bishop, as the divinely-appointed teacher of the clergy and people, to be silent about or to withhold a doctrine of the Faith revealed by God, because he apprehends or thinks that some may take offence at it. Nay, rather it is his business so prudently to bring it about in the declaration of that doctrine, that its true sense and import may hereafter be clearly represented, all erroneous misrepresentations of it be excluded, the reasons for the decision of the doctrine brought out plainly, and all objections to it zealously met and answered."

No one gave greater weight to the obvious difficulties which the methods employed at Rome had created for the Decree, no one formulated them with more simplicity and frankness than Dr Newman. His letters showed how he laboured to suggest plausible grounds for assent to the new Decree, while leaving the ecumenical character of the Council for future solution. And, remembering that these letters were addressed to the believers and not to the outer world, nothing can show more strikingly than the arguments which Dr Newman employs, the profound perplexity into which many Romanists were thrown.

In a letter written six days after the Decree was passed he says:—

"I saw the new Definition yesterday, and am pleased at its moderation—that is, if the doctrine is to be defined at all. The terms are vague and comprehensive; and personally I have no difficulty in admitting it. The


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 heart; but my conductors hung their heads, because they had not found the expected treasures. In order to console them for their disappointment, I gave every one a dollar, under the condition to mention nothing of our adventure to the Count's servants. I could easily foresee that this would be the surest means of having it circulated in the castle, and determined to watch whether I could gather nothing from the behaviour of the servants, all of whom I suspected very much. However, the whole affair became a subject of general merriment: every one was impatient to see the subterraneous vault; and the visits of the curious to the cellar became soon so numerous, that I ordered the passage to be shut up, because it was now the general rendezvous of the servants. Thus terminated that adventure. The new pavilion was finished in a short time, and furnished, and I had the pleasure of breakfasting there before the Count returned. He arrived at length, fatigued

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 ] question is, Does it come to me with the authority of an Ecumenical Council?

"Now the primâ facie argument is in favour of its having that authority. The Council was legitimately called; it was more largely attended than any Council before it. …

"Were it not then for certain circumstances under which the Council made the definition, I should receive that definition at once.

"Even as it is, if I were called upon to profess it, I should be unable, considering it came from the Holy Father and the competent local authorities, at once to refuse to do so. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that there are reasons for a Catholic, till better informed, to suspend his judgment on its validity.

"We all know that ever since the opening of the Council there has been a strenuous opposition to the definition of the doctrine; and that, at the time when it was actually passed, more than eighty Fathers absented themselves from the Council, and would have nothing to do with its act. But if the fact be so, that the Fathers were not unanimous, is the definition valid? This depends upon the question whether unanimity at least moral is or is not necessary for its validity? As at present advised I think it is. …

"Certainly Pius IV. lays great stress on the unanimity of the Fathers in the Council of Trent. … Far different has been the case now—though the Council is not yet finished. But if I must now at once decide what to think of it, I should consider that all turned on what the dissentient Bishops now do.

"If they separate and go home without acting as a body, if they act only individually or as individuals, and each in his own way, then I should not recognise in their opposition to the majority that force, firmness, and unity of view, which creates a real case of want of moral unanimity in the Council. …"

But it is impossible not to feel that dogmas which men are recommended to accept on such extenuating


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100

, Kalervo’s offspring,

He, the youth with blue-dyed stockings,

And with yellow hair the finest,

And with shoes of finest leather,

Hurried quickly on his journey

From the home of Ilmarinen,

Ere report could reach the master

Of the death his wife had suffered,

And might harm him in his anger,

And he might at once destroy him.

From the smith he hurried piping,

Joyful left the lands of Ilma,

On the heath his horn blew loudly,

Shouted loudly in the clearing,

And he dashed through plains and marshes,

While the heath re-echoed loudly,

And his horn kept loudly blowing,

And made horrible rejoicing.

In the smithy did they hear it,

At the forge the smith was standing,

To the lane he went to listen,

To the yard to look around him,

Who was playing in the forest,

And upon the heath was piping.

Then he saw what just had happened,

Saw the truth without deception,

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Runo XXXIV]

There he saw his wife was resting,

Saw the fair one who had perished,

Where she in the yard had fallen,

On the grass where she had fallen.

Even while the smith was standing,

All his heart was dark with sorrow;

Many nights he spent in weeping,

Many weeks his tears were flowing,

And his soul like tar was darkened,

And his heart than soot no lighter.

Kullervo still wandered onwards,

Aimlessly he hurried forward,

For a day through thickest forest,

Through the timber-grounds of Hiisi,

And at evening, when it darkened,

Down upon the ground he threw him.

There the orphan boy was sitting,

And the friendless one reflected:

“Wherefore have I been created,

Who has made me, and has doomed me,

Thus ’neath moon and sun to wander

’Neath the open sky for ever?

“Others to their homes may journey,

And may travel to their dwellings,

But my home is in the forest,

And upon the heath my homestead.

In the wind I find my fire-place,

In the rain I find my bathroom.

“Never, Jumala most gracious,

Never in the course of ages,

Form a child thus mis-created,

Doomed to be for ever friendless,

Fatherless beneath the heavens,

From the first without a mother,

As thou, Jumala, hast made me,

And hast formed me to be wretched,

Formed me like a wandering seagull,

Like a seagull on the lake-cliffs.

Shines the sun upon the swallow,

Brightly shines upon the sparrow,

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Rh as far as the eye could reach, lay white, deep snow, distributed in heaps and layers. In one direction could be seen a greyish heap, over which a fine, dry, snowy dust was doggedly flying. Not a single trace of a sledge, or a human being, or an animal was anywhere visible. The outlines and colours of the back of the driver and the horses showed out clearly, and even sharply, against the white background. The rim of Ignashka's dark blue hat, his collar, his hair, and even his boots were white. The sledges were completely covered. The whole right part of the head of the dark grey thill horse and his forelock were covered with snow; my side horse was enwrapped in it up to the knees, and his sweating body was all plastered with snowy festoons on the right side. The tassel was still bobbing up and down as before, beating time to some unimaginable motif, and the side horse was running along just as before, only she had sunk lower in the snow, from which she raised and disengaged her body from time to time. It was plain from her dejected ears what she must be suffering. Only a single new object riveted our attention, and this was a verst post, from which the snow was being strewn on the ground, around which the wind had piled a whole hillock of snow to the right, and was still tearing up and casting the scattering snow from one side to the other. I was amazed that we had been driving along the whole night with single horses for twenty hours, not knowing whither, and without stopping, and yet had managed somehow to arrive. Our little bell was sounding more merrily than ever. Ignat wrapped

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More Tales from Tolstoi himself up tighter, and kept shouting at the horses; behind us neighed the horses and jingled the bells of the troika of the little old man and the counsellor; but the sleeper must have parted from us in the steppe. After going along for another half verst we came upon the recent track of a sledge and troika, lightly powdered with snow, and, at rare intervals, pink patches of the blood of a horse which, as we could see, had been cruelly whipped.

"That is Philip. It is plain that he has got in before us!" said Ignashka.

But there stood a little house with a signboard alone on the road, in the midst of the snow, which reached almost up to the roof and windows. Near the inn stood a troika of three grey horses, crisp with sweat, with disengaged feet and dejected heads. Around the door the snow had been cleared away, and there stood a shovel, but from the roof the howling wind was still sweeping and whirling the snow.

From out of the door, at the sound of our bells, emerged a big, good-looking, red-faced driver with a glass of wine in his hand, shouting something. Ignashka turned to me and asked permission to stop. Then for the first time I saw his face.

His face was not darkish, dry, and straight-nosed, as I had expected, judging from his hair and physique. It was a round, merry, absolutely sun-burnt face, with a large mouth and brightly shining,

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102

In the air the birds are joyous,

I myself am never happy,

On my life the sun shines never,

And my life is always joyless.

“Now I know not who has nursed me,

And I know not who has borne me,

For, as water-hens are used to,

Or as ducks among the marshes,

Like the teal on shore she left me,

Or in hollow stone, merganser.

“I was small, and lost my father,

I was weak, and lost my mother,

Dead is father, dead is mother,

All my mighty race has perished,

Shoes of ice to wear they left me,

Filled with snow they left my stockings,

On the ice they left me lying,

Rolling on the platform left me,

Thus I fell into the marshes,

And amid the mud was swallowed.

“But in all my life I never,

Never in my life I hastened,

Through the swamp to make a platform,

Or a bridge in marshy places;

But I sank not in the marshes,

For I had two hands to help me,

And I had five nimble fingers.

And ten nails to lift me from it.”

Then into his mind it entered

In his brain he fixed the notion

Unto Untamo to journey,

There his father’s wrongs avenging,

Father’s wrongs, and tears of mother,

And the wrongs himself had suffered.

Then he spoke the words which follow:

“Wait thou, wait thou, Untamoinen,

Watch thou, of my race destroyer!

If I seek thee out in battle,

I will quickly burn thy dwelling,

And thy farms to flame deliver.”

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 Labourers for the public good especially, have to work long and patiently, often uncheered by the prospect of immediate recompense or result. The seeds they sow sometimes lie hidden under the winter's snow, and before the spring comes the husbandman may have gone to his rest. It is not every public worker who, like Rowland Hill, sees his great idea bring forth fruit in his life-time. Adam Smith sowed the seeds of a great social amelioration in that dingy old University of Glasgow where he so long laboured, and laid the foundations of his 'Wealth of Nations'; but seventy years passed before his work bore substantial fruits, nor indeed are they all gathered in yet.

Nothing can compensate for the loss of hope in a man: it entirely changes the character. "How can I work—how can I be happy," said a great but miserable thinker, "when I have lost all hope?" One of the most cheerful and courageous, because one of the most hopeful of workers, was Carey, the missionary. When in India, it was no uncommon thing for him to weary out three pundits, who officiated as his clerks, in one day, he himself taking rest only in change of employment. Carey, the son of a shoemaker, was supported in his labours by Ward, the son of a carpenter, and Marsham, the son of a weaver. By their labours, a magnificent college was erected at Serampore; sixteen flourishing stations were established; the Bible was translated into sixteen languages, and the seeds were sown of a beneficent moral revolution in British India. Carey was never ashamed of the humbleness of his origin. On one occasion, when at the Governor-General's table he overheard an officer opposite him asking another, loud enough to be heard,


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Rh round blue eyes. His cheeks and neck were as red as rubbed rags; his eyebrows, long eye-lashes, and the hair symmetrically covering the lower part of his face, were clotted with snow and quite white. It was only half a verst to the station, and we stopped.

"Only be as quick as you can," I said.

"In one moment," answered Ignashka, and leaping from the box-seat, he ran to Philip.

"Give it here, my brother," taking off his glove and pitching it in the snow along with his whip, and, throwing back his head, he swallowed the proffered dram of vodka at a single gulp.

The innkeeper, most probably a discharged Cossack, came out of the door with a demi-stoop in his hand.

"Who's to have it?" said he.

Tall Vas-il-y, a leanish, red-bearded muzhik, with a goatee beard, and the counsellor, a stout, white eye-browed fellow, with a thick white beard framing his red face, both came up and had a glass or two. The little old man would also have liked to have joined the group of drinkers, but he was not invited to have a dram, and he went to his horses, which were tied up behind the troika, and began to stroke them on the back and buttocks. The little old man was just as I had imagined him, a thin, little fellow with a wrinkled, bluish face, a sparse beard, a sharp nose, and stumpy yellow teeth. He wore a driver's hat, which was quite new, but his meagre litttle demi-pelisse, threadbare, stained with tar and torn at the shoulder and sides, did not cover his knees, and his hempen lower garment was stuffed into his huge felt

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More Tales from Tolstoi boots. He was all bent and wrinkled, and his face and knees were quivering; he was busying himself about the sledge, with the obvious endeavour of getting warm.

"Hillo, Matvich! why don't you have a half pint? fine thing for making you warm!" said the counsellor.

Matvich persisted in what he was doing. He put the harness of his horses to rights, put the low shaft right also and came to me.

"Look here, sir!" said he, taking his hat from off his grey hairs and bowing low, "all night long we've been wandering about with you, seeking the road; if only now you would stand a half pint. Yes, indeed, little father, your excellency! And there's nothing like that for warming one," he added with an obsequious smile.

I gave him a quarter-rouble. The innkeeper brought out a half-pint and handed it to the little old man. He drew off the whip-glove and extended a small, dark, crooked and slightly bluish hand towards the glass; but his thumb, which looked like some one else's, refused to obey him; he could not hold the glass, and, spilling the vodka, cast it upon the snow.

All the drivers began to laugh.

"Just look, Matvich is so frost-bitten that he cannot hold his wine."

But Matvich was very angry that the wine was spilled. However, they filled him another glass and poured it into his mouth. Immediately he became very lively and merry, ran into the inn, lighted his pipe, began to simper, and show his worn, yellow

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Rh teeth, and uttered an oath at every word. After drinking a final dram, the drivers dispersed to their various troikas and we proceeded. The snow was just as white and glaring as ever, so that it stung the eye that gazed at it. The orange and reddish strips of cloud, mounting higher and higher, and growing ever brighter and brighter, spread over the sky; even the red sphere of the sun appeared on the horizon in the midst of dove-coloured clouds, the azure of the sky grew ever more dazzling and deeper. On the road, near the posting station, the track was clear, precise, and yellowish ; here and there were holes; in the frozen, compressed air there was a sensation of pleasant lightness and freshness. My troika ran very swiftly. The head of the thill horse and her neck, with the mane spread widely over the shaft-bow, bobbed rapidly up and down, almost in one place; beneath sounded the pleasant bells whose tongues no longer beat, but rubbed against their sides. The good side horses, tugging together at the congealed and crooked reins, energetically bounded forward; the tassels kept bumping away beneath their very bellies and hindmost harness. Occasionally the side horse would stumble into one of the holes in the dilapidated road, and, with its eyes full of snow-dust, would struggle briskly out of it again. Ignashka now shouted to his horses in a merry tenor; the dry frost crackled beneath the sides of the sledges; from behind us came the solemnly sonorous sounds of two sledge-bells and the drunken shouting of the drivers. I glanced back, the grey, shaggy side horses, extending their necks, and breathing methodically,

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More Tales from Tolstoi with curving bits, were bounding over the snow. Philip shaking his whip, was adjusting his hat; the little old man, with drawn up legs, was lying at full length, just as before, in the middle sledge.

In two minutes the sledge began to grate upon the well-swept boards of the approach to the posting-station, and Ignashka turned towards me his snow-covered, merry, weather-beaten face.

"We've arrived, you see, sir!" said he.

title: Page:More Tales from Tolstoi.djvu/100


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Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v2.djvu/115

Runo XXXIV]

Then an old dame came to meet him,

Blue-robed Lady of the Forest,

And she spoke the words which follow,

And in words like these expressed her:

“Whither goeth Kullervoinen,

Where will Kalervo’s son hasten?”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Answered in the words which follow:

“In my mind the thought has entered,

In my brain has fixed the notion

Hence to other lands to wander,

Unto Untamo’s own village,

There my father’s death avenging,

Father’s wrongs, and tears of mother,

There with fire to burn the houses,

And to burn them up completely.”

But the old wife made him answer,

And she spoke the words which follow:

“No, your race has not yet perished,

Nor has Kalervo been murdered;

For your father still is living,

And on earth in health your mother.”

“O my dearest of old women,

Tell me, O my dear old woman,

Where I yet may find my father,

Where the fair one who has borne me?”

“Thither is thy father living,

There the fair one who has borne thee,

Far away on Lapland’s borders,

On the borders of a fishpond.”

“O my dearest of old women,

Tell me, O my dear old woman,

How I best can journey to them,

And the road I may discover?“

“Easy ’tis for thee to journey,

Though to thee unknown the pathway.

Through the forest must thou journey,

By the river thou must travel,

Thou must march one day, a second,

And must march upon the third day,

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text:
Author:John Bacon Sawrey Morritt

Works

 * A Vindication of Homer and of the Ancient Poets and Historians who have recorded the Siege and Fall of Troy (1798)
 * Additional Remarks on the Topography of Troy, in answer to Mr. Bryant's last Publications (1800)
 * Advice to the Whigs, by an Englishman (1810)

title: Author:John Bacon Sawrey Morritt


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Third series (IA playstranslatedf03benauoft).pdf/238

 her, alone, at her age in the world. She never stopped to remember that you have a mother yourself, just as I have.

. You are a kind and dutiful daughter.

. Emilia… But leave us, yes, leave us. We must talk, we must talk—alone.

. Why? There is nothing they may not hear.

. No, this concerns us alone. It is no time to stand upon formality. We are not two young lovers, nor children; to hesitate is ridiculous. A man and woman at this moment are deciding their future, and it will be forever. I am not willing that any one should interfere. We must speak bravely, freely. Don Hilario, take my mother. Luisita, leave us… Go, mother, I am calm; Emilia, you have nothing to fear.

. Did you think that my plan was not serious? Do you believe that it is right to continue as we are?

. I don't know. We have talked of so many things, we have planned and we have dreamed! But I never believed that any of it could really be.

. Read this letter.

. But you are so earnest! Did you mean it, really?

. Read it, read it.

. It is for Don Hilario… No, Julio, no!

. You see that I have considered it seriously. It is our future.

. No, Julio, no; you frighten me. It is a dangerous experiment, far away. Not leave our poor mothers? No, tell me you don't really mean it, you are only doing it to test my love.

. Perhaps I am doing it so as not to test it, not to condemn you to this miserable existence, every hour of which would prove its own test, with but very few either of illusion


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104

Then must turn thee to the north-west,

Till you reach a wooded mountain,

Then march on beneath the mountain,

Go the left side of the mountain,

Till thou comest to a river,

(On the right side thou wilt find it,)

By the riverside go further,

Till three waterfalls rush foaming,

When thou comest to a headland,

With a narrow tongue projecting,

And a house at point of headland,

And beyond a hut for fishing.

There thy father still is living,

There the fair one who has borne thee,

There thou’lt also find thy sisters,

Two among the fairest maidens.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Started then upon his journey,

And he marched one day, a second,

Likewise marched upon the third day,

Then he turned him to the north-west,

Till he reached a wooded mountain,

Then he marched halfway below it,

Turning westward from the mountain,

Till at length he found the river,

And he marched along the river,

On the west bank of the river,

Past three water-falls he journeyed,

Till at length he reached a headland

With a narrow tongue projecting,

And a house at point of headland,

And beyond, a hut for fishing.

Thereupon the house he entered,

In the room they did not know him.

“From what lake has come the stranger,

From what country is the wanderer?”

“Is your son then all forgotten,

Know you not your child, your offspring,

Who by Untamo’s marauders,

With them to their home was carried,

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Tales from Tolstoi Nikita made no answer. He sat him down on the sledge with his back to the wind, pulled off his boots and shook the snow out of them, and, gathering a handful of straw, proceeded carefully to stuff it into a hole inside his left boot.

Vasily Andreicb remained silent, as if resolving now to leave everything to Nikita. After having set his boots to rights and put them on again, Nikita thrust his legs into the sledge again, put on his gloves, seized the reins, and carefully guided the horse alongside the chasm. But they had not gone one hundred steps further when the horse again stopped short. There was another chasm in front of it.

Nikita again got out, and again began groping his way about amidst the snow. He was away a pretty long time. At last he reappeared on the opposite side.

"Vasily Andreich, art thou alive?" he cried.

"Here I am!" Vasily Andreich shouted back. "What is it?"

"I can make out nothing, it is so dark and the place is full of big holes. We must go again against the wind."

Again they went on for a little while, again Nikita got out and tumbled about the snow, again he took his seat in the sledge; again he tumbled about, and at last, thoroughly blown, stopped by the side of the sledge.

"Well, what's the matter? " asked Vasily Andreich.

"What's the matter! why I'm at my wits' end, and the horse seems to be so too, for he also has stopped short." 44


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Runo XXXIV]

Greater not than span of father,

Longer not than mother’s spindle?”

Then his mother interrupted,

And exclaimed the aged woman,

“O my son, my son unhappy,

O my golden brooch so wretched,

Hast thou then, with eyes yet living,

Wandered through these countries hither,

When as dead I long had mourned thee,

Long had wept for thy destruction?

“I had two sons in the past days,

And two daughters of the fairest,

And among them two have vanished,

Two are lost among the elder,

First my son in furious battle,

Then my daughter, how I know not.

Though my son has reached the homestead,

Never has returned my daughter.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

In his turn began to question.

“How then has your daughter vanished,

What has happened to my sister?“

Then his mother made him answer,

And she spoke the words which follow:

“Thus has disappeared my daughter,

Thus it happened to your sister.

To the wood she went for berries,

Sought for raspberries ’neath the mountain,

There it is the dove has vanished,

There it is the bird has perished,

Thus she died without our knowledge,

How she died we cannot tell you.

“Who is longing for the maiden?

Save her mother, no one missed her.

First her mother went to seek her,

And her mother sought, who missed her,

Forth I went, unhappy mother,

Forth I went to seek my daughter,

Through the wood like bear I hurried,

Speeding through the wastes like otter,

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 or hope, because life would be upon us quickly, a life of continual hardship, of ceaseless struggle with disappointment, with humiliation, until in the end our love itself would be destroyed.

. No, never. I could bear any privations gladly, I could face them all, and it would be no sacrifice, but I cannot go away—I cannot do that! It is too much to ask.

. Do you prefer a daily sacrifice to one supreme, heroic effort? Haven't you the courage to leave your mother, when you have it to embitter her life day by day when she sees you in tears because of discomforts and deprivations which you suffer, or when you see her in them, suffering for you, though you may have courage not to let her see you cry?

. No, Julio, you must not ask that of me, it would be too cruel. It would kill my mother. Think it over. I could never be an ungrateful child.

. That is to say I am an ungrateful son. If I am, remember it is for you. It is more honest, it is the nobler way for us, for all, to prevent unhappiness, to obviate recrimination, although at first it may seem more difficult, more cruel.

. But my mother will consent gladly, and we can live here very happily. The first few years we shall manage somehow, as best we may; my family has connections, and they will help us in the end. You will be able to find other employment. Who knows? If we are careful, and prepared to be patient, we shall surely discover some plan.

. Yes, by petty intrigue, by scheming for humiliating recommendations, by patronage and influence; you are willing to do your part in devious ways. You have only to add that with a wife such as you, any man who is complaisant enough could aspire to the top.

. Be careful what you say, Julio!


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106

Thus I sought one day, a second,

Sought her also on the third day.

When the third day had passed over,

For a long time yet I wandered,

Till I reached a mighty mountain,

And a peak of all the highest,

Calling ever on my daughter,

Ever grieving for the lost one.

“‘Where is now my dearest daughter?

O my daughter, come thou homeward!’

“Thus I shouted to my daughter,

Grieving ever for the lost one,

And the mountains made me answer,

And the heaths again re-echoed,

‘Call no more upon thy daughter,

Call no more, and shout no longer,

Never will she come back living,

Nor return unto her household,

Never to her mother’s dwelling,

To her aged father’s boathouse.’”

, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

After this continued living,

In the shelter of his parents,

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text: Kalevala (Kirby 1907)/Runo 34

title: Kalevala (Kirby 1907)/Runo 34


text:
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. On the other hand, you speak freely, you talk like a woman—like our women. This is what I have heard all my life: "Patience, craft, intrigue! Other men have succeeded; you can learn to do the same, to live." Yes, to live amid the rustle of skirts! Isn't it true? Our Spanish life!—burrowing in offices and antechambers, but fighting out in the open, in the broad daylight, relying on one's own strength, without treachery to oneself, and never so much as a single lie to another—never, never that! That requires superhuman courage. Never!—not even for a man who would die for your sake.

. I see that plainly.

. Yes, and accomplish things of which he never believed himself capable, because I, too, was brought up as you were, to resignation, to expect everything of others, and, until I loved you, I was not conscious that I had strength to live my own life, to live it in spite of others, in spite of the cowardice to which I was brought up. But when my will was the strongest, I relied on you to support me, so that we might fight together for our love, for our happiness, for our children, that they might not be condemned to suffer as we have done. At the cost of appearing ingrates, even to our mothers, we shall have assured them the right to be happy, we shall have freed them from the necessity of sacrificing their hearts, as now you would sacrifice ours.

. No, I wouldn't, Julio; I am not the one.

. Who is it, then?

. You, you… it is you. Give it up for my sake.

. I will not give it up. You don't know what the will of a weak man is, when for the first time in his life he discovers that he has a will. Decide! Choose this very instant!


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Rh "What are we to do, then?"

"Wait a moment!" and again Nikita was off: very shortly he came back.

"Hold on to me and come in front of the horse!"

Vasily Andreich henceforth gave no more orders, but meekly did everything which Nikita bade him do.

"Come after me!" bawled Nikita, moving quickly to the right, at the same time seizing Brownie by his bridle and leading him towards the snow-drift. At first the horse resisted, but presently it pulled itself together and made a great effort to leap across the snow-drift, but it could not clear it, and sank in the snow up to its collar. "Get out!" cried Nikita to Vasily Andreich, who had continued sitting in the sledge; and seizing one of the shafts, he began to push the sledge after the horse. Tis a little bit difficult, my brother!" said he turning towards Brownie, "but we must put our shoulders to the wheel and do the best we can. Come now! just a wee bit more!" he shouted. Once more the horse exerted itself, and once again, but all the same it did not move from the spot, and indeed sank down again. It moved its ears about, sniffed at the snow, and lowered its head as if it were meditating something. "How now, brother! not so easy, is it?" cried Nikita encouragingly. "Come along, one more try!" and again Nikita pushed away at the shaft on his own side, and Vasily Andreich did the same on the other. The horse shook its head, and then suddenly put forth all its strength again.

"Look there! you do not stick fast after all you see!" shouted Nikita. 45


text: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/16

title: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/16


text:
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. What am I to choose? Not to go away; no, I cannot do it, I am afraid. Be sensible, Julio! You know I am right. We will wait as long as you please, I shall wait for you forever, and then—whatever you think best. We are young yet. If you feel you ought to go, why don't you go alone?—and, then, come back. If it is really so wonderful there, it might be different. Don't you see? Have confidence in me. I shall wait for you always.

. Yes, I will go, alone—alone! You are right. Now, I have made up my mind to go. But don't you wait for me!

. Julio!

. No, don't you wait! I have heard what I never expected to hear.

. I knew it; you are the one who forgets, you turn me away.

. Yes, I do, with my cowardice, my vacillation, determined at last to have a will of my own! Leave me, Emilia, leave me.

. God help us! God help us! Oh!…

. Go back to your mother and be a daughter again—be always a daughter, a good daughter! I am a bad man, bad—and you know it!

. You don't know what you are doing; you are not yourself. Oh, I can't bear it! I can't have them see me like this. I am going… But promise that you will come to see me. You will come, won't you, Julio? I shall wait, I shall wait for you always—all the rest of my life!

. My poor boy!

. My dear brother!


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Tales from Tolstoi One good spring, another, and then a third, and at last the horse had found its way out of the drift, and stood there, breathing heavily and shaking in every limb. Nikita would have led him on further, but Vasily Andreich in his double set of furs had got so winded that he could not go any further, and fell back into the sledge.

"Give me time to breathe," said he, untying his kerchief, which he had fastened round the collar of his fur cloak in the village.

"There's no need for you to do anything, you lie where you are," said Nikita, "I'll lead him along." And with Vasily Andreich in the sledge he led the horse by the bridle some two steps downwards, and then a little way upwards, and stood still.

The place where Nikita had stopped was not in the hollow; here and there were some patches of snow, but it was partially protected from the wind by the hill. There were moments when the wind behind the hill dropped for a bit, but this did not last long, and as if to indenmify itself for this respite, the wind immediately afterwards blew down with tenfold force, and raged and tore more evilly than ever. Just such an onslaught of the wind took place at the very moment when Vasily Andreich, having recovered his breath, had got out of the sledge, and was going to Nikita in order to consult with him what was to be done. Both of them instinctively bent down, and waited till the fury of the assault had passed over before they spoke. Brownie also involuntarily pressed down his ears and shook his head. No sooner had the gale abated somewhat, than Nikita, 46


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Rh taking off his gauntlets and sticking them into his girdle, and blowing upon his hands to warm them, began to unfasten the harness from the shafts of the sledge.

"What are you about there?" asked Vasily Andreich.

"I am taking out the horse, what else is there to be done? I have no more strength left in me," answered Nikita, as if by way of apology.

"And you are not going anywhere out of this?"

"Going anywhere? No! We are only torturing the horse uselessly. Look at him, poor old fellow! he is not himself," said Nikita, pointing at the horse standing patiently there, ready for anything, but well-nigh spent and with his flanks all wet and strained. "We must pass the night here," continued he, as if making up his mind to fix his night-quarters at some regular place of call, and he set about unloosening the strings of the horse-collar.

"But surely we shall be frozen?" cried Vasily Andreich.

"What an idea! Don't refuse my proposal, or freeze you may, perhaps!" said Nikita.

Vasily Andreich in his double furs was quite warm, especially after all his bustling about in the chasm; but a cold shiver ran right down his back when he understood that he would have to pass the night here. To compose himself somewhat he continued sitting in the sledge, and provided himself with cigarettes and matches.

Nikita, meanwhile, was taking out the horse. He unfastened the belly-girth and the saddle-strap, laid 47


text: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/19

title: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/19


text: Index:The London Magazine, volume 7 (January–June 1823).djvu


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Tales from Tolstoi them on one side, undid the thongs of the horse-collar, took it off, and all the time never ceased talking to the horse in order to encourage it.

"Out you come, out you come!" he said, leading it out of the shafts, "and now we're going to tie you up. I'll give you some nice straw, and let you go," he continued, doing what he said. "Taste and tell me if you are not having a nice time of it?"

But Brownie, visibly, was not soothed by Nikita's words, and indeed was very ill at ease. He fidgeted about from foot to foot, and pressed hard against the sledge, stood with his back to the wind, and rubbed his head on Nikita's sleeve.

Just as if he did not want to refuse Nikita's hospitality with the straw, which Nikita had thrust beneath his snout, Brownie did, indeed, petulantly snatch a bit of straw out of the sledge, but immediately afterwards he decided that this was no time for straw, and threw it away, and instantly the wind caught it, scattered it, and covered it with snow.

"And now we'll make a sign," said Nikita, turning to the sledge so as to face the wind, and fastening the saddle-strap to the shafts, he raised them aloft, and fixed them so that they faced frontwards. "So there we are, and good people will catch sight of the shafts and the fluttering strap, and will find us and dig us out," said Nikita, "just as our elders have told us."

Meanwhile Vasily Andreich, unloosening his fur jacket, and crouching beneath its folds, was striking match after match on his steel match-box, but his hands trembled, and the matches either did not ignite 48


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. But Emilia?

. Has gone. She is not here… not here. She is afraid… afraid of love, afraid of life. Everything is over between us.

. My poor boy! Then…?

. Now you will never leave us.

. Yes, now more than ever I must. One illusion that is lost is but a small part of life. Now more than ever I must! The wretched poverty of this existence shall never again crush my heart, brimming over with the fulness of life. I shall win the right to love, to be happy—it is a right which belongs to my children.

. Oh! My son

. Let him go. You have no right to discourage him. Others have done the same. Our mother Spain was prodigal of her children, and sent them forth to give life and body to those nations, the daughters of her race, who are to-day her chief, perhaps her only pride. Let him go, and his mother's love and benediction must go with him. A cradle is more sacred than the grave… greater than the past is the future.

Curtain


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H. H. MAHARAJA SIR VENKAT RAMAN SINGH BAHADUR. G.C.S.I.

Maharaja of Rewa.


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Rh at all, or were blown out by the wind at the very moment when he raised them to his cigarette. At last one little match burnt brightly and lit up for an instant the fur of his cloak, his hand with the gold ring on the inwardly crooked index finger, and the oaten straw sprinkled with snow which had forced its way out of the big sack beneath him—and his cigarette was lighted. Once or twice he greedily sucked away, swallowed the smoke, puffed it out through his lips, and would have lit up again, but the tobacco and the matches dropped from his grasp and were lost somewhere or other amidst the straw.

Yet even those few whiffs of tobacco had cheered up Vasily Andreich.

"Well, if we are to stay the night here, we must make the best of it!" said he decidedly. And catching sight of the elevated shafts, the desire seized him to make this sign of distress still more forcible and give Nikita a lesson. "You just wait a bit, and I'll make a flag of it," said he, picking up his handkerchief, which he had taken from his neck and thrown into the sledge; and taking off his gloves and stretching forward to reach the shafts, he fastened the hand-kerchief with a thick knot to the saddle-strap at the end of the shafts.

The little bit of cloth immediately began shivering violently, now clinging to the shafts, now suddenly bulging out, stretching, and fluttering.

"What do you say, to that?" cried Vasily Andreich, delighted with his handiwork, and he crept into the sledge again. Twould be warmer if we both sat close together, and you won't, I suppose," said he. 49


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J/erzojg & Higsrins, Mhow

H. H. NAWAB SIR MAHAMMAD IBRAHIM AL1 KHAN BAHADUR, G.C.S.L

Nawab of Tonk.


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Tales from Tolstoi "Oh, I'll find a place," said Nikita, "but I must first cover the horse, the poor thing is all over sweat. Pray let go!" he added; and approaching the sledge, he drew out the large sack from beneath Vasily Andreich, and having got hold of it, he folded it in two, and covered Brownie with it, first of all unloosening and taking off his harness.

"You'll be all the warmer for it, you little fool," said he, placing over the horse, on the top of the sack, the saddle and the heavy harness.

"And now, if you don't want it, I'll have the big apron, and let me have some straw too," said Nikita, and having finished with the horse he turned back to the sledge.

And taking both apron and straw from beneath Vasily Andreich, he went to the back of the sledge, dug himself out a hole in the snow, filled it with straw, and pressing his hat down over his eyes, wrapping himself round in his kaftan and covering himself over with the apron, he sat on the heaped-up straw, leaning against the back of the sledge, which protected him from the wind and the snow.

Vasily Andreich shook his head disapprovingly at what Nikita was doing (he disapproved in general of the stupidity and want of culture of all muzhiks), and then he set about making himself comfortable for the night.

He smoothed out all the straw remaining in the sledge, tucked it more closely beneath and around him, drew his hands up his sleeves, and disposed his head comfortably in the front corner of the sledge, where he was sheltered from the wind and snow. 50


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Herzog & Higgins. Mhow.

H. H. MAHARAJA SIR SAWA1 JAI SINGH BAHADUR, K.C.S.L

Maharaja of Alwar.


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H. H. MAHARAWAL SHRI SHAMBHU SINGH BAHADUR.

Maharawal of Banswara.


text: Index:The London Magazine, volume 8 (July–December 1823).djvu


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Herzog & Higgins, Mhow,

H. H. MAHARAWAL BUAI SINGH BAHADUR. Maharawal of Dungarpur.


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H. H. MAHARAJADHIRAJA MAHARWAL SHAL1VAHAN BAHADUR.

Maharawal of Jaisalmer.


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 mother had died soon after his father’s execution; and that himself and his brother, left without the control of guardians, and without support, had taken to bad courses.

On hearing this report, Schroll rapidly worsened; and he unfolded to a young clergyman his whole unfortunate history. About midnight, he sent again in great haste for the clergyman. He came. But at sight of him Schroll stretched out his hands in extremity of horror, and waved him away from his presence; but before his signals were complied with, the wretched man had expired in convulsions.

From his horror at the sight of the young clergyman, and from the astonishment of the clergyman himself, on arriving and hearing that he had already been seen in the sick-room, it was inferred that his figure had been assumed for fiendish purposes. The dice and the strange cavalier disappeared at the same time with their wretched victim; and were seen no more.


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more than one hundred and fifty years had the family of Schroll been settled at Taubendorf; and generally respected for knowledge and refinement of manners superior to its Station. Its present representative, the bailiff Elias Schroll, had in his youth attached himself to literature; but later in life, from love to the country, he had returned to his native village; and lived there in great credit and esteem.

During this whole period of one hundred and fifty years, tradition had recorded only one single Schroll as having borne a doubtful character: he indeed, as many persons affirmed, had dealt with the devil. Certain it is that there was still preserved in the house a scrutoire fixed in the wall—and containing some mysterious manuscripts attributed to him; and the date of the year—1630, which was carved upon the front, tallied with his era. The key of this scrutoire had been constantly handed down to the eldest son, through five generations—with a solemn charge to take care that no other eye or ear should ever become acquainted with its contents. Every precaution had been taken to guard against accidents or oversights: the lock was so constructed, that even with the right key, it could not be opened without special instructions; and for still greater security, the present proprietor had added a padlock of most elaborate workmanship, which presented a sufficient obstacle before the main lock could be approached.

In vain did the curiosity of the whole family direct itself to this scrutoire. Nobody had succeeded in discovering any part of its contents, except Rudolph, the only son of the bailiff: he had succeeded: at least his own belief was, that the old folio, with gilt edges, and bound in black velvet, which he had one day surprised his father anxiously reading, belonged to the mysterious scrutoire. For the door of the scrutoire, though not open, was unlocked; and Elias had hastily closed the book with great agitation, at the same time ordering his son out of the room in no very gentle tone. At the time of this incident, Rudolph was about twelve years of age.

Since that time the young man had sustained two great losses, in the deaths of his excellent mother, and a sister tenderly beloved. His father also had suffered deeply in health and spirits under these afflictions. Every day he grew more fretful and humoursome; and Rudolph, upon his final return home from school in his eighteenth year, was shocked to find him greatly altered in mind as well as in person. His flesh had fallen away; and he seemed to be consumed by some internal strife of thought. It was evidently his own opinion that he was standing on the edge of the grave: and he employed himself unceasingly in arranging his affairs, and in making his successor acquainted with all such arrangements as regarded his more peculiar interests. One evening, as Rudolph came in suddenly from a neighbour’s house, and happened to pass the. 1823.


text: In the Clouds

title: In the Clouds


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weeks after his death stood the bust of the late stamp-distributor Goodchild exposed to public view in the china-manufacture of L. For what purpose? Simply for this—that he might call Heaven and earth to witness, that, allowing for some little difference in the colours, he looked just as he did heretofore in life: a proposition which his brother and heir Mr. Goodchild the merchant flatly denied. For this denial Mr. Goodchild had his private reasons. “It is true,” said he, “my late brother the stamp-distributor, God rest him! did certainly bespeak three dozen copies of his own bust at the china-works:—but surely he bespoke them for his use in this life, and not in the next. His intention doubtless was to send a copy to each of those loose companions of his who helped him to run through his fine estate: natural enough for him to propose as a spendthrift, but highly absurd for me to ratify as executor to so beggarly an inheritance; and therefore assuredly I shall not throw so much money out of the windows.”

This was plausible talking to all persons who did not happen to know that the inheritance amounted to 25 thousand dollars; and that the merchant Goodchild, as was unanimously affirmed by all the Jews both Christian and Jewish, in L, weighed moreover in his own person, independently of that inheritance, one entire ton of gold.

The china-works would certainly never have been put off with this allegation; and therefore, by the advice of his attorney, he had in reserve a more special argument why he ought not to pay for the six-and-thirty busts. “My brother,” said he, “may have ordered so many copies of his bust. It is possible. I neither affirm nor deny. Busts may be ordered: and my brother may have ordered them. But what then? I suppose all men will grant that he meant the busts to have some resemblance to himself, and by no means to have no resemblance. But now, be it known, they have no resemblance to him. Ergo I refuse to take them. One word’s as good as a thousand.”

But this one word, no nor a thousand such, would satisfy Mr. Whelp the proprietor of the china-works. So he summoned Mr. Goodchild before the magistracy. Unfortunately Mr. Whelp’s lawyer, in order to show his ingenuity, had filled sixteen folio pages with an introductory argument in which he laboured to prove that the art of catching a likeness was an especial gift of God, bestowed on very few portrait-painters and sculptors—and which therefore it was almost impious and prophane to demand of a mere uninspired baker of porcellain. From this argument he went on to infer à fortiori in the second place that, where the china-baker did hit the likeness, and had done so much more than could lawfully be asked of him, it was an injustice that would cry aloud to heaven for redress if, after all, his works were returned upon his hands; especially where, as in the present instance, so much beauty of art was united with the peculiar merit of a portrait. It was fatal, however, to the effect of this argument, that just as the magistrate arrived at—“In the second place,”—his servant came in and said, “If you please, Sir, dinner is on the table.” Naturally therefore conceiving that the gite of the lawyer’s reasoning was to defend the want of resemblance as an admitted fact, which it would be useless to deny, the worthy magistrate closed the pleadings and gave sentence against Mr. Whelp the plaintiff.


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 it from the genuine light sentimental billet-doux style of young ladies of seventeen. How should he learn then? William dares not tell him for his life. And the fellow can never be such a brute as to refuse the bust to a young lady whom he pretends to admire. Lord! it makes me laugh to think what a long face he’ll show when he asks for permission to visit you upon the strength of this sacrifice; and I, looking at him like a bull, shall say—“No, indeed, my good Sir; as to the bust, what’s that to me, my good Sir? What do I care for the bust, my good Sir? I believe it’s all broken to pieces with a sledge-hammer, or else you might have it back again for anything I care. Eh, Ida, my girl, won’t that be droll? Won’t it be laughable to see what a long face he’ll cut?”—But, but—

If Ida had any particular wish to see how laughable a fellow looked under such circumstances, she had very soon that gratification; for her father’s under jaw dropped enormously on the return of the messenger. It did not perhaps require any great critical penetration to determine from what member of the family the letter proceeded: and independently of that, Mr. Tempest had (as the reader knows) some little acquaintance with the epistolary style of Miss Goodchild. In his answer therefore he declined complying with the request: but, to convince his beloved Ida that his refusal was designed not for her but for her father, he expressed himself as follows:

“Now then,” thought Mr. Goodchild, “the world is come to a pretty pass.” The honour and credit of his name and family seemed to stand on the edge of a razor: and, without staying for any further consideration, he shot over like an arrow to Mr. Tempest.

Scarcely was he out of the house, when in rushed the postman with a second note to Miss Goodchild, apologizing for the former and explaining to her the particular purpose he had in writing it.

How well he succeeded in this, was very soon made evident by the circumstance of her father’s coming back with him arm in arm. Mr. Tempest had so handsomely apologized for any offence he might have given, and with a tone of real feeling had rested his defence so entirely upon the excess of his admiration for Miss Goodchild which had left him no longer master of his own actions or understanding, that her father felt touched and flattered—forgave every thing very frankly—and allowed him to hope from his daughter’s mouth for the final ratification of his hopes.

“But this one stipulation I must make, my good Sir,” said Mr. Goodchild returning to his political anxieties, “that in future you must wholly renounce that black fellow who styles himself (most absurdly!) the king of Hayti.” “With all my heart,” said Mr. Tempest, “Miss Goodchild will be cheaply purchased by renouncing The King of Hayti.”


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sun had just set, and all the invalids at the baths of had retired to their lodgings, when the harsh tones of welcome from the steeple announced the arrival of a new guest. Forthwith all the windows were garrisoned with young faces and old faces, pretty faces and ugly faces; and scarce one but was overspread with instantaneous merriment—a feu-de-joie of laughter, that traveled up the street in company with the very extraordinary object that now advanced from the city gates. Upon a little, meagre, scare-crow of a horse, sate a tall, broad-shouldered, young fellow, in a great-coat of bright pea-green, whose variegated lights and shades, from soaking rains and partial dryings, bore sullen testimony to the changeable state of the weather for the last week. Out of this great-coat shot up, to a monstrous height, a head surmounted by a huge cocked hat, one end of which hung over the stem, the other over the stern of the horse: the legs belonging to this head were sheathed in a pair of monstrous boots, technically called “field-pieces,” which, descending rather too low, were well plaistered with flesh-coloured mud. More, perhaps, in compliance with the established rule, than for any visible use, a switch was in the rider’s hand; for to attribute to such a horse, under such a load, any power to have quitted a pace that must have satisfied the most rigorous police in Poland, was obviously too romantic. Depending from his side, and almost touching the ground, rattled an enormous back-sword, which suggested to the thinking mind a salutary hint to allow free passage, without let or unseasonable jesting, to Mr. Jeremiah Schnackenberger, student at the University of He, that might be disposed to overlook this hint, would certainly pay attention to a second, which crept close behind the other in the shape of a monstrous dog, somewhat bigger than the horse, and presenting on every side a double tier of most respectable teeth. Observing the general muster of the natives, which his appearance had called to the windows, the rider had unslung and mounted a pipe, under whose moving canopy of clouds and vapours he might advance in greater tranquillity: and during this operation, his very thoughtful and serious horse had struck up a bye-street—and made a dead stop, before his rider was aware, at the sign of the Golden Sow.

Although the gold had long since vanished from the stone beast, and,, 1823.


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 tificate of having acquitted herself to his satisfaction?

To rid himself of spectators, Mr. Jeremiah willingly paid the old woman the full amount of her demand, and then returned to the city. It disturbed him greatly, however, that the princess should thus again have seen him under circumstances of disgrace. Anxious desire to lay open his heart before her—and to place himself in a more advantageous light, if not as to his body, yet at all events as to his intellect—determined him to use his utmost interest with her to obtain a private audience; “at which,” thought he, “I can easily beg her pardon for having overslept the appointed hour.”

a passionate admirer of painting, I took up this little volume, with an anxious hope to discover a better medium than any at present in use. Whether or not the author has been successful must be a matter of experiment; and I am very desirous that Mr. Vink Booms should make a trial of the New Process, and give his fair judgment upon it; to which I promise to bow with the most implicit submission. To me, who live at a great distance from the metropolis, and, consequently, cannot see the specimens offered to the public notice by the author, an imitation of Teniers by this method appears a thing incomprehensible. I should have thought the effect must inevitably be woolly.

The author is at least a convert to his own experiments, a happiness, to deprive him of which would be real cruelty; but when it is considered that he has been indefatigable in the pursuit for the space of fifteen years, and, like Dr. Sangrado, has committed himself by publishing upon the subject, there is little occasion to fear he will ever be made so miserable as to be persuaded of the fallacy of his schemes,—though far be it from me to deny to them the very quintessence of truth. I would not quarrel with the inventor, admiring his enthusiasm, and congratulating him upon his satisfaction. He, with much propriety (possibly), entitles his invention a New Process, but is quite wrong in his attempt to prove it the Old.

That we do not now use the same medium as the old masters did, a very careless observer, who is not prejudiced in favour of his megillups, cannot deny. There is a texture about the old pictures very unlike our own, and a richness like jewellery in the paint, that, independent of the charm of subject, is of itself a great gratification to the eye. To discover what that peculiar medium was, is indeed a great desideratum, and more worthy the attention and liberality of the Directors of the British Gallery, than the purchasing at costly prices the second-rate performances of the Venetian school,

Far from decrying modern artists, I am willing to allow that they stand unrivalled in some branches of the art; and, notwithstanding the difference of medium, have made, and are continuing to make, great progress. All I affirm is, that they labour under disadvantages, a great secret in the art being lost; and I most anxiously look to the recovery of it, with a confidence that England will be as Italy has been—the seat of the arts. There is now amongst artists a per-


text: In the Clouds/Act 1

title: In the Clouds/Act 1


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The good luck seemed to have anticipated Mr. Schnackenberger’s nearest wishes. For on reaching the Double-barreled Gun, whither he arrived without further disturbance than that of the general gazing to which he was exposed by the fragment of a coat which survived from the late engagement, a billet was put into his hands of the following tenour: “Come and explain this evening, if you can explain, your astonishing neglect of this morning’s appointment. I shall be at the theatre; and shall do what I can to dismiss my attendants.”

But bad luck came also—in the person of a lawyer. The lawyer stated that he called on the part of the landlady of the Golden Sow, to put the question for the last time in civil terms, “whether Mr. Schnackenberger were prepared to fulfil those just expectations which he had raised in her heart; or whether she must be compelled to pursue her claims by due course of law.”

Mr. Schnackenberger was beginning to launch out with great fury upon the shameless and barefaced impudence of such expectations: but the attorney interrupted him; and observed with provoking coolness, “that there was no occasion for any warmth—no occasion in the world; that certainly Mrs. Sweetbread could not have framed these expectations wholly out of the air: something (and he grinned sarcastically), something, it must be supposed, had passed: now, for instance, this wedding-shirt of the late Mr. Sweetbreadshe would hardly, I think, have resigned this to your use, Mr. Schnackenberger, unless some engagements had preceded either in the shape of words or of actions. However, said he, this is no part of my business; what remains for me to do on this occasion is to present her account; and let me add, that I am instructed to say that, if you come to a proper understanding with her on the first point, no further notice will be taken of this last part of my client’s demand.

The unfortunate Mr. Schnackenberger considered the case most ruefully and in awful perturbation. He perspired exceedingly. However, at length“Come, I don’t care,” said he, “I know what I’ll do:” and then sitting down, he drew up a paper, which he presented to Mr. Attorney; at the same time, explaining to him that, rather than be exposed in a court of justice as a supposed lover of Mrs. Sweetbread’s, he was content to pay the monstrous charges of her bill without applying to a magistrate for his revision: but upon this condition only, that Mrs. Sweetbread should for herself, heirs, and assigns, execute a general release with regard to Mr. Jeremiah Schnackenberger’s body, according to the form here drawn up by himself, and should engage on no pretence whatever to set up any claim to him in times to come.

The attorney took his leave for the purpose of laying this release before his client: but the landlord of the Double-barreled Gun, to whom in confidence Mr. Jeremiah disclosed his perilous situation, shook his head, and said, that if the other party signed the release on the conditions offered, it would be fortunate: as in that case, Mr. Schnackenberger would come off on much easier terms than twenty-three other gentlemen had done, who had all turned into the Golden Sow on different occasions, but not one of whom had ever got clear of the Golden Sow without an expensive contest at law. “God bless my soul!” said Mr. Schnacken-


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 without troubling herself about the drawn swords, she drove right at the pit of Mr. Sebastian’s stomach, knocked the breath out of his body, the sword out of his hand, and himself upon his back.

“Ah! my goddess, my Juno!” cried Mr. Schnackenberger; “Nec vox hominem sonat, oh Dea certe!” “Nec vox hominem sonat?” said Mr. Fabian, rising: “Faith, you’re right there; for I never heard a voice more like a brute’s in my life.”

“Down then, down Juno,” said Mr. Schnackenberger, as Juno was preparing for a second campaign against Mr. Fabian’s stomach: Mr. Fabian, on his part, held out his hand to his brother student—saying, “all quarrels are now ended.” Mr. Jeremiah accepted his hand cordially. Mr. Fabian offered to resign “the article,” however agitating to his feelings. Mr. Jeremiah, though no less agitated, protested he should not. “I will, by all that’s magnanimous,” said Mr. Fabian. “By the memory of Curtius, or whatever else is most sacred in self-sacrifice, you shall not,” said Mr. Jeremiah. “Hear me, thou light of day,” said Mr. Fabian, kneeling. “Hear me,” interrupted Mr. Jeremiah, kneeling also: yes, the Schnackenberger knelt, but carefully and by circumstantial degrees; for he was big and heavy as a rhinoceros, and afraid of capsizing, and perspired freely. Mr. Fabian kneeled like a dactyle: Mr. Jeremiah kneeled like a spondee, or rather like a molossus. Juno, meantime, whose feelings were less affected, did not kneel at all; but, like a tribrach, amused herself with chacing a hare which just then crossed one of the forest ridings. A moment after was heard the report of a fowling-piece. Bitter presentiment of the truth caused the kneeling duelists to turn their heads at the same instant. Alas! the subject of their high-wrought contest was no more: English Juno lay stretched in her blood! Up started the “dactyle;” up started the “spondee;” out flew their swords; curses, dactylic and spondaic, began to roll; and the gemini of the university of X., side by side, strode after the Junonicide, who proved to be a forester. The forester wisely retreated, before the storm, into his cottage; from an upper window of which he read to the two coroners, in this inquest after blood, a section of the forest-laws, which so fully justified what he had done—that, like the reading of the English riot act, it dispersed the gemini, both dactylic and spondaic, who now held it advisable to pursue the matter no further.

“Sir, my brother,” said Mr. Fabian, embracing his friend over the corpse of Juno, “see what comes of our imitating Kotzebue’s plays! Nothing but our nefarious magnanimity was the cause of Juno’s untimely end. For had we, instead of kneeling (which by the way seemed to ‘punish’ you a good deal), had we, I say, vested the property in one or other of us, she, instead of diverting her ennui by hunting, would have been trotting home by the side of her master—and the article would have been still living.”

“Now then,” said Mr. Schnackenberger, entering the Double-barreled Gun with his friend,—“Now, waiter, let us have Rhenish and Champagne, and all other good things with which your Gun is charged: fire off both barrels upon us: Come, you dog, make ready—present; for we solemnize a funeral to-day:” and, at the same time, he flung down the purchase-money of Juno upon the table. The waiter hastened to obey his orders.

The longer the two masters of Juno drank together, the more did they convince themselves that her death was a real blessing to herself, who had thus obviously escaped a life of severe cudgeling, which her voracity would have entailed upon her: “yes,” they both exclaimed; “a blessing to herself—to her friends in particular—and to the public in general.”

To conclude, the price of Juno was honourably drunk up to the last farthing, in celebration of her obsequies at this one sitting.


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H. H. RAJ^RANA SIR BHAWAN1 SINGH BAHADUR, K.C.S.I.

Raj-Rana op Jhalawar.


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Herzog & fflg-gins, Mhoiv*

THE LATE CHIEF, RAJA JAI SINGH, WITH HIS MINOR SON,

The Present Chief of Khetri.


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Herzos <Sf ffiggins, Mhow.

CAPTAIN H. H. MAHARAJADHIRAJA SIR MADAN SINGH BAHADUR, K.C.I.E.,

Maharaja of Kishangarh.


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 whether Carey had not once been a shoemaker: "No, sir," exclaimed Carey immediately; "only a cobbler." An eminently characteristic anecdote has been told of his perseverance as a boy. When climbing a tree one day, his foot slipped, and he fell to the ground, breaking his leg by the fall. He was confined to his bed for weeks, but when he recovered and was able to walk without support, the very first thing he did was to go and climb that tree. Carey had need of this sort of dauntless courage for the great missionary work of his life, and nobly and resolutely he did it.

It was a maxim of Dr. Young, the philosopher, that "Any man can do what any other man has done"; and it is unquestionable that he himself never recoiled from any trials to which he determined to subject himself. It is related of him, that the first time he mounted a horse, he was in company with the grandson of Mr. Barclay of Ury, the well-known sportsman; when the horseman who preceded them leapt a high fence. Young wished to imitate him, but fell off his horse in the attempt. Without saying a word, he remounted, made a second effort, and was again unsuccessful, but this time he was not thrown further than on to the horse's neck, to which he clung. At the third trial, he succeeded, and cleared the fence.

The story of Timour the Tartar learning a lesson of perseverance under adversity from the spider is well known. Not less interesting is the anecdote of Audubon, the American ornithologist, as related by himself: "An accident," he says, "which happened to two hundred of my original drawings, nearly put a stop to my researches in ornithology. I shall relate it, merely to show how


text: In the Clouds/Act 2

title: In the Clouds/Act 2


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 far enthusiasm—for by no other name can I call my perseverance—may enable the preserver of nature to surmount the most disheartening difficulties. I left the village of Henderson, in Kentucky, situated on the banks of the Ohio, where I resided for several years, to proceed to Philadelphia on business. I looked to my drawings before my departure, placed them carefully in a wooden box, and gave them in charge of a relative, with injunctions to see that no injury should happen to them. My absence was of several months; and when I returned, after having enjoyed the pleasures of home for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I was pleased to call my treasure. The box was produced and opened; but reader, feel for me—a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of the whole, and reared a young family among the gnawed bits of paper, which, but a month previous, represented nearly a thousand inhabitants of air! The burning heat which instantly rushed through my brain was too great to be endured without affecting my whole nervous system. I slept for several nights, and the days passed like days of oblivion—until the animal powers being recalled into action through the strength of my constitution, I took up my gun, my notebook, and my pencils, and went forth to the woods as gaily as if nothing had happened. I felt pleased that I might now make better drawings than before; and, ere a period not exceeding three years had elapsed, my portfolio was again filled."

The accidental destruction of Sir Isaac Newton's papers, by his little dog 'Diamond' upsetting a lighted taper upon his desk, by which the elaborate calculations of many years were in a moment


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Author:Wanda Hazel Gág

Works
Writer and illustrator:

 * Batiking at Home: a Handbook for Beginners, 1926
 * Millions of Cats, 1928

Illustrator only:

 * A Child’s Book of Folk-Lore—Mechanics of Written English, by Jean Sherwood Rankin, 1917
 * The Oak by the Waters of Rowan, by Spencer Kellogg Jr, 1927

title: Author:Wanda Hazel Gág


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 destroyed, is a well-known anecdote, and need not be repeated: it is said that the loss caused the philosopher such profound grief that it seriously injured his health, and impaired his understanding. An accident of a somewhat similar kind happened to the MS. of Mr. Carlyle's first volume of his 'French Revolution.' He had lent the MS. to a literary neighbour to peruse. By some mischance, it had been left lying on the parlour floor, and become forgotten. Weeks ran on, and the historian sent for his work, the printers being loud for "copy." Inquiries were made, and it was found that the maid-of-all-work, finding what she conceived to be a bundle of waste paper on the floor, had used it to light the kitchen and parlour fires with! Such was the answer returned to Mr. Carlyle; and his feelings may be imagined. There was, however, no help for him but to set resolutely to work to re-write the book; and he turned to and did it. He had no draft, and was compelled to rake up from his memory facts, ideas, and expressions, which had been long since dismissed. The composition of the book in the first instance had been a work of pleasure; the re-writing of it a second time was one of pain and anguish almost beyond belief. That he persevered and finished the volume under such circumstances, affords an instance of determination of purpose which has seldom been surpassed.

The lives of eminent inventors are eminently illustrative of the same quality of perseverance. George Stephenson, when addressing young men, was accustomed to sum up his best advice to them in the words, "Do as I have done—persevere." He had worked at the improvement of his loco-


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 motive for some fifteen years before achieving his decisive victory at Rainhill; and Watt was engaged for some thirty years upon the condensing-engine before he brought it to perfection. But there are equally striking illustrations of perseverance to be found in every other branch of science, art, and industry. Perhaps one of the most interesting is that connected with the disentombment of the Nineveh marbles, and the discovery of the long-lost cuneiform or arrow-headed character in which the inscriptions on them are written—a kind of writing which had been lost to the world since the period of the Macedonian conquest of Persia.

An intelligent cadet of the East India Company, stationed at Kermanshah, in Persia, had observed the curious cuneiform inscriptions on the old monuments in the neighbourhood—so old that all historical traces of them had been lost, and amongst the inscriptions which he copied was that on the celebrated rock of Behistun—a perpendicular rock rising abruptly some feet from the plain, the lower part bearing inscriptions for the space of about  feet in three languages—Persian, Scythian, and Assyrian. Comparison of the known with the unknown, of the language which survived with the language that had been lost, enabled this cadet to acquire some knowledge of the cuneiform character, and even to form an alphabet. Mr. (afterwards Sir Henry) Rawlinson sent his tracings home for examination. No professors in colleges as yet knew anything of the cuneiform character; but there was a ci-devant clerk of the East India House—a modest unknown man of the name of Norris—who had made this little-understood subject his study, to whom the tracings were


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 him again. He was looking at himself in a hand-mirror, and, as I entered, he looked up at me and said, “You’re right. I’m not twenty-one. I’m thirty-six.” It was quite pathetic to see him. He clung to my hand, but said very little wouldn’t let me talk  he seemed afraid of what I might say. Once he asked after his father you never knew him, I think, Kitty  a good man, though a little intolerant  but you can imagine how I felt at having to inform him that he passed away twelve years ago.

Good Lord, can’t you say he died?

Go on. Is there more?

It seemed as though he could not bring himself to do so. He spoke of Jenny and this place, and at last, with an effort, he asked about you what you were like. I did my best to describe you you can imagine it was not easy for me  I did my best to make you out as attractive as possible, but

[ suddenly gives a yelp of almost hysterical laughter.

Jenny!


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 scrutoire, he found the door wide open, and the inside obviously empty. Looking round, he observed his father standing on the hearth close to a great fire, in the midst of which was consuming the old black book.

Elias entreated his son earnestly to withdraw: but Rudolph could not command himself; and he exclaimed—“I doubt, I doubt, Sir, that this is the book which belongs to the scrutoire.”

His father assented with visible confusion.

“Well, then, allow me to say, that I am greatly surprised at your treating in this way an heir-loom that for a century and more has always been transmitted to the eldest son.”

“You are in the right, my son,” said the father, affectionately taking him by the hand: “You are partly in the right: it is not quite defensible, I admit: and I myself have had many scruples about the course I have taken. Yet still I feel myself glad upon the whole that I have destroyed this accursed book. He, that wrote it, never prospered; all traditions agree in that:—why then leave to one’s descendants a miserable legacy of unhallowed mysteries?

This excuse, however, did not satisfy Rudolph. He maintained that his father had made an aggression upon his rights of inheritance; and he argued the point so well, that Elias himself began to see that his son’s complaint was not altogether groundless. The whole of the next day they behaved to each other—not unkindly, but yet with some coolness. At night Elias could bear this no longer; and he said, “Dear Rudolph, we have lived long together in harmony and love; let us not begin to show an altered countenance to each other during the few days that I have yet to live.”

Rudolph pressed his father’s offered hand with a filial warmth; and the latter went on to say—“I purpose now to communicate to you by word of mouth the contents of the book which I have destroyed: I will do this with good faith and without reserve—unless you yourself can be persuaded to forego your own right to such a communication.”

Elias paused—flattering himself, as it seemed, that his son would forego his right. But in this he was mistaken: Rudolph was far too eager for the disclosure; and earnestly pressed his father to proceed.

Again Elias hesitated, and threw a glance of profound love and pity upon his son—a glance that conjured him to think better and to waive his claim: but, this being at length obviously hopeless, he spoke as follows:—“The book relates chiefly to yourself: it points to you as to the last of our race. You turn pale. Surely, Rudolph, it would have been better that you had resolved to trouble yourself no farther about it?it?” [sic]

“No,” said Rudolph, recovering his self-possession, “No: for it still remains a question whether this prophecy be true.”

“It does so, it does, no doubt.”

“And is this all that the book says in regard to me?”

“No: it is not all: there is something more. But possibly you will only laugh when you hear it: for at this day no body believes in such strange stories. However, be that as it may, the book goes on to say plainly and positively, that the Evil One (Heaven protect us!) will make you an offer tending greatly to your worldly advantage.”

Rudolph laughed outright; and replied that, judging by the grave exterior of the book, he had looked to hear of more serious contents.

“Well, well, my son,” said the old man, “I know not that I myself am disposed to place much confidence in these tales of contracts with the devil. But, true or not, we ought not to laugh at them. Enough for me that under any circumstances I am satisfied you have so much natural piety, that you would reject all worldly good fortune that could meet you upon unhallowed paths.”

Here Elias would have broken off: but Rudolph said, “One thing more I wish to know: What is to be the nature of the good fortune offered to me? And did the book say whether I should accept it or not?”

“Upon the nature of the good fortune the writer has not explained himself: all that he says—is, that by a discreet use of it, it is in your power to become a very great man. Whether you will accept it—but God preserve thee, my child, from any thought so criminal—upon this ques-


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is a famous speech recorded of an old Norseman, thoroughly characteristic of the Teuton. "I believe neither in idols nor demons," said he, "I put my sole trust in my own strength of body and soul." The ancient crest of a pickaxe with the motto of "Either I will find a way or make one," was an expression of the same sturdy independence which to this day distinguishes the descendants of the Northmen. Indeed, nothing could be more characteristic of the Scandinavian mythology than that it had a god with a hammer. A man's character is seen in small matters; and from even so slight a test as the mode in which a man wields a hammer, his energy may in some measure be inferred. Thus an eminent Frenchman hit off in a single phrase the characteristic quality of the inhabitants of a particular district, in which a friend of his proposed to settle and buy land. "Beware," said he, "of making a purchase there; I know the men of that department;


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 tion there is a profound silence. Nay, it seems even as if this trader in black arts had at that very point been overtaken by death: for he had broken off in the very middle of a word. The lord have mercy upon his soul!”

Little as Rudolph’s faith was in the possibility of such a proposal, yet he was uneasy at his father’s communication and visibly disturbed; so that the latter said to him—“Had it not been better, Rudolph, that you had left the mystery to be buried with me in the grave?”

Rudolph said “No:” but his restless eye, and his agitated air, too evidently approved the accuracy of his father’s solicitude.

The deep impression upon Rudolph’s mind from this conversation—the last he was ever to hold with his father—was rendered still deeper by the solemn event which followed. About the middle of that same night he was awakened suddenly by a summons to his father’s bed-side: his father was dying, and earnestly asking for him.

“My son!” he exclaimed with an expression of the bitterest anguish; stretched out both his arms in supplication towards him; and in the anguish of the effort he expired.

The levity of youthful spirits soon dispersed the gloom which at first hung over Rudolph’s mind. Surrounded by jovial companions at the university which he now visited, he found no room left in his bosom for sorrow or care: and his heaviest affliction was the refusal of his guardian at times to comply with his too frequent importunities for money.

After a residence of one year at the university, some youthful irregularities in which Rudolph was concerned subjected him, jointly with three others, to expulsion. Just at that time, the Seven Years’ War happened to break out: two of the party, named Theiler and Werl, entered the military service together with Rudolph: the last, very much against the will of a young woman to whom he was engaged. Charlotte herself, however, became reconciled to this arrangement, when she saw that her objections availed nothing against Rudolph’s resolution, and heard her lover describe in the most flattering colours his own return to her arms in the uniform of an officer: for that his distinguished courage must carry him in the very first campaign to the rank of lieutenant, was as evident to his own mind as that he could not possibly fall on the field of battle.

The three friends were fortunate enough to be placed in the same company. But in the first battle, Werl and Theiler were stretched lifeless by Rudolph’s side: Werl, by a musket ball through his heart, and Theiler by a cannon shot which took off his head.

Soon after this event Rudolph himself returned home: but how? Not, as he had fondly anticipated, in the brilliant decorations of a distinguished officer; but as a prisoner in close custody: in a transport of youthful anger he had been guilty, in company with two others, of insubordination and mutiny.

The court-martial sentenced them to death. The judges, however, were so favourably impressed by their good conduct whilst under confinement, that they would certainly have recommended them unconditionally to the royal mercy, if it had not been deemed necessary to make an example. However, the sentence was so far mitigated, that only one of the three was to be shot. And which was he? That point was reserved in suspense until the day of execution, when it was to be decided by the cast of the dice.

As the fatal day drew near, a tempest of passionate grief assailed the three prisoners. One of them was agitated by the tears of his father; the second by the sad situation of a sickly wife and two children. The third, Rudolph, in case the lot fell upon him, would be summoned to part not only with his life, but also with a young and blooming bride, that lay nearer to his heart than anything else in the world. “Ah!” said he on the evening before the day of final decision, “Ah! if but this once I could secure a lucky throw of the dice!” And scarce was the wish uttered, when his comrade Werl, whom he had seen fall by his side in the field of battle, stepped into his cell.

“So, brother Schroll, I suppose you didn’t much expect to see me?”

“No, indeed, did I not—” exclaimed Rudolph in consternation: for in fact, on the next day after the battle, he had seen with his own eyes


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 : I’m sorry, but  oh, Frank, really

[She gurgles.

This is sheer hysteria.

(weakly): I’m sorry but, Frank  you  you [She is near tears.

(controlling herself) : I know, Frank. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. Go on.

[She turns away from them and sits with her back to them, staring out of the window.

(white and tense) : What did he say?

(hesitant) : Kitty I hardly  you see  he has no memory of you, of having married you  naturally, he seemed a little  well, a little hostile. Oh, not personally I don’t mean that  but the idea of a wife he didn’t know  it’s very dreadful. He turned away from me then, told me to go became almost abusive, and so insisted that I was finally forced to leave him. I spoke to the doctor later. He said he had satisfied himself that Chris was suffering from a loss of memory extending over fifteen years, and that he thought in the circumstances, I, as his cousin, should make arrangements for his removal home.

Still still in Boulogne?


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 : No. I brought him home  yesterday. The doctor thought it best.

Not here?

I thought I had better come down here to prepare you first.

The shock the incomprehensibility of it all. I thought it best to wait and tell you personally. We only arrived last night.

He won’t talk. And, I’m afraid, very irritable. He seems to resent all my attempts at conversation. He just sits and broods. Once, last night in the train, he gave vent to an outburst about this Margaret how much he loved her, how he must see her. Since then he’s hardly spoken a word he just sits

[Her face darkens with jealousy.

(He rises and pats her shoulder.) Please believe you have my very deepest sympathy, my dear.

I must see him!