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 tively. He did the conventional thing, but he did it well. He added a touch or two of luxury, the faintest aroma of splendor. Pettingill had designed the curiously wayward table, with its comfortable atmosphere of companionship, and arranged its decoration of great lavender orchids and lacy butterfly festoons of white ones touched with yellow. He had wanted to use dahlias in their many rich shades from pale yellow to orange and deep red, but Monty held out for orchids. It was the artist, too, who had found in a rare and happy moment the massive gold candelabra—ancient things of a more luxurious age—and their opalescent shades. Against his advice the service, too, was of gold,—"rank vulgarity," he called it, with its rich meaningless ornamentation. But here Monty was obdurate. He insisted that he liked the color and that porcelain had no character. Mrs. Dan only prevented a quarrel by suggesting that several courses should be served upon Sèvres.

Pettingill's scheme for lighting the room was particularly happy. For the benefit of his walls and the four lovely Monets which Monty had purchased at his instigation, he had designed a ceiling screen of heavy rich glass in tones of white that grew into yellow and dull


text:
Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 8).djvu/654

658 is really the most necessary of accomplishments, for only so can one turn upon the mountain side without slipping down. It must be done without ever presenting one's heels to the slope, and this is the only way.

But granted that a man has perseverance, and a month to spare in which to conquer all these early difficulties, he will then find that "ski"-ing opens up a field of sport for him which is, I think, unique. This is not appreciated yet, but I am convinced that the time will come when hundreds of Englishmen will come to Switzerland for the "ski"-ing season, in March and April. I believe that I may claim to be the first save only two Switzers to do any mountain work (though on a modest enough scale) on snow-shoes, but I am certain that I will not by many a thousand be the last.

The fact is that it is easier to climb an ordinary peak or to make a journey over the higher passes in winter than in summer, if the weather is only set fair. In summer you have to climb down as well as climb up, and the one is as tiring as the other. In winter your trouble is halved, as most of your descent is a mere slide. If the snow is tolerably firm, it is much easier also to zig-zag up it on "ski" than to clamber over boulders under a hot summer sun. The temperature, too, is more favourable for exertion in winter, for nothing could be more delightful than the crisp, pure air on the mountains, though glasses are, of course, necessary to protect the eyes from the snow glare.

Our project was to make our way from Davos to Arosa over the Furka Pass, which is over 9,000ft. high. The distance is not more than from twelve to fourteen miles as the crow flies, but it has only once been done in winter. Last year the two brothers Branger made their way across on "ski." They were my companions on the present expedition, and more trustworthy ones no novice could hope to have with him. They are both men of considerable endurance, and even a long spell of my German did not appear to exhaust them.

We were up before four in the morning, and had started at half-past for the village of

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


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Rh Frauenkirch, where we were to commence our ascent. A great pale moon was shining in a violet sky, with such stars as can only be seen in the tropics or the higher Alps. At a quarter-past five we turned from the road and began to plod up the hill-sides over alternate banks of last year's grass and slopes of snow. We carried our "ski" over our shoulders and our "ski" boots slung round our necks, for it was good walking where the snow was hard, and it was sure to be hard wherever the sun had struck it during the day. Here and there in a hollow we floundered into and out of a soft. drift up to our waists, but on the whole it was easy going, and as much of our way lay through fir woods, it would have been difficult to "ski." About half-past six, after a long, steady grind, we emerged from the woods, and shortly afterwards passed a wooden cow-house, which was the last sign of man which we were to see until we reached Arosa.

The snow being still hard enough upon the slopes to give. us a good grip for our feet, we pushed rapidly on over rolling snow-fields with a general upward tendency. About half-past seven the sun cleared the peaks behind us, and the glare upon the great expanse of virgin snow became very dazzling. We worked our way down a long slope and then, coming to the corresponding hill-side with a northern outlook, we found the snow as soft as powder and so deep that we could touch no bottom with our poles. Here, then, we took to our snow-shoes, and zig-zagged up over the long, white haunch of the mountain, pausing at the top for a rest. They are useful things, the "ski," for, finding that the snow was again hard enough to bear us, we soon converted ours into very comfortable bench, from which we enjoyed the view of a whole panorama of mountains, the names of which my readers will be relieved to hear I have completely forgotten.

The snow was rapidly softening now under the glare of the sun, and without our shoes


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660 all progress would have been impossible. We were making our way along the steep side of a valley, with the mouth of the Furka Pass fairly in front of us. The snow fell away here at an angle of from 50deg. to 60deg., and as this steep incline, along the face of which we were shuffling, sloped away down until it ended in absolute precipice, a slip might have been serious. My two more experienced companions walked below me for the half mile or so of danger, but soon we found ourselves on a more reasonable slope, where one might fall with impunity. And now came the real sport of snow-shoeing. Hitherto we had walked as fast as boots would do over ground where no boots could pass. But now we had a pleasure which boots can never give. For a third of a mile we shot along over gently dipping curves, skimming down into the valley without a motion of our feet. In that great untrodden waste, with snow-fields bounding our vision on every side and no marks of life save the track of chamois and of foxes, it was glorious to whizz along in this easy fashion. A short zig-zag at the bottom of the slope brought us, at half-past nine, into the mouth of the pass, and we could see the little toy hotels of Arosa away down among the fir woods, thousands of feet beneath us.

Again we had half a mile or so, skimming along with our poles dragging behind us. It seemed to me that the difficulty of our journey was over, and that we had only to stand on our "ski" and let them carry us to our destination. But the most awkward place was yet in front. The slope grew steeper and steeper, until it suddenly fell away into what was little short of being sheer precipice. But still, that little, when there is soft snow upon it, is all that is needed to bring out another possibility of these wonderful slips of wood. The brothers Branger agreed that the place was too difficult to attempt with the "ski" upon our feet. To me it seemed as if a parachute was the only instrument for which we had any use, but I did as I saw my


text: File:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf


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Rh companions do. They undid their "ski," lashed the straps together, and turned them into a rather clumsy toboggan. Sitting on these, with our heels dug into the snow, and our sticks pressed hard down behind us, we began to move down the precipitous face of the pass. I think that both my comrades came to grief over it. I know that they where as white as Lot's wife at the bottom. But my own troubles were so pressing that I had no time to think of them. I tried to keep the pace within moderate bounds by pressing on the stick, which had the effect of turning the sledge sideways, so that one skidded down the slope. Then I dug my heels hard in, which shot me off backwards, and in an instant my two "ski's," tied together, flew away like an arrow from a bow, whizzed past the two Brangers, and vanished over the next slope, leaving their owner squatting in the deep snow. It might have been an awkward accident in the upper fields, where the drifts are 20ft. to 30ft. deep. But the steepness of the place was an advantage now, for the snow could not accumulate to any very great extent upon it. I made my way down in my own fashion.

My tailor tells me that Harris tweed cannot wear out. This is a mere theory, and will not stand a thorough scientific test. He will find samples of his wares on view fromnthe Furka Pass to Arosa, and for the remainder of the day I was happiest when nearest the wall.

However, save that one of the Brangers sprained his ankle badly in the descent, all went well with us, and we entered Arosa at half-past eleven, having taken exactly seven hours over our journey. The residents at Arosa, who knew that we were coming, had calculated that we could not possibly get there before one, and turned out to see us descend the steep pass just about the time when we were finishing a comfortable luncheon at the Seehof. I would not grudge them any innocent amusement, but, still, I was just as glad that my own little performance was over before they assembled with their opera-glasses. One can do very well without a gallery when one is trying a new experiment on "ski."


text:
Author:Charleton Neville Maxwell

Works

 * Malayan Fishes (1921), published as Volume 84 of Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society

title: Author:Charleton Neville Maxwell


text: Index:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf


text: The Zoologist/3rd series, vol 1 (1877)/Issue 6/On the Claim of the Pine Grosbeak to be Regarded as a British Bird


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/71

 green. It served to conceal the lights in the daytime, and at night the glare of electricity was immensely softened and made harmonious by passing through it. It gave a note of quiet to the picture, which caused even these men and women, who had been here and there and seen many things, to draw in their breath sharply. Altogether the effect manifestly made an impression.

Such an environment had its influence upon the company. It went far toward making the dinner a success. From far in the distance came the softened strains of Hungarian music, and never had the little band played the "Valse Amoureuse" and the "Valse Bleue" with the spirit it put into them that night. Yet the soft clamor in the dining-room insistently ignored the emotion of the music. Monty, bored as he was between the two most important dowagers at the feast, wondered dimly what invisible part it played in making things go. He had a vagrant fancy that without it there would have been no zest for talk, no noisy competition to overcome, no hurdles to leap. As it was, the talk certainly went well, and Mrs. Dan inspected the result of her work from time to time with smiling satisfaction. From across the table she heard Colonel Drew's


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 voice,—"Brewster evidently objects to a long siege. He is planning to carry us by assault."

Mrs. Dan turned to "Subway" Smith, who was at her right—the latest addition to her menagerie. "What is this friend of yours?" she asked. "I have never seen such complex simplicity. This new plaything has no real charm for him. He is breaking it to find out what it is made of. And something will happen when he discovers the sawdust."

"Oh, don't worry about him," said "Subway," easily; "Monty's at least a good sportsman. He won't complain, whatever happens. He'll accept the reckoning and pay the piper."

It was only toward the end of the evening that Monty found his reward in a moment with Barbara Drew. He stood before her, squaring his shoulders belligerently to keep away intruders, and she smiled up at him in that bewildering fashion of hers. But it was only for an instant, and then came a terrifying din from the dining-room, followed by the clamor of crashing glass. The guests tried for a moment to be courteously oblivious, but the noise was so startling that such politeness became farcical. The host, with a little laugh, went down the hall. It was the beautiful screen near the ceiling that had fallen. A thousand pieces of


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 shattered glass covered the place. The table was a sickening heap of crushed orchids and sputtering candles. Frightened servants rushed into the room from one side just as Brewster entered from the other. Stupefaction halted them. After the first pulseless moment of horror, exclamations of dismay went up on all sides. For Monty Brewster the first sensation of regret was followed by a diabolical sense of joy.

"Thank the Lord!" he said softly in the hush.

The look of surprise he encountered in the faces of his guests brought him up with a jerk.

"That it didn't happen while we were dining," he added with serene thankfulness. And his nonchalance scored for him in the idle game he was playing.


text:
Module:Tpp/sandbox

local p = {}

-- use mw.html?

local _ppoem = require("Module:Ppoem")._ppoem local getArgs = require("Module:Arguments").getArgs

function p._tpp(args) local res = "" -- if not args.text and not args[2] then args[1] is assumed to be the text, but args.title will always be the title. args.text = args.text or args[2] local notitle = false local notext = false if not args.text then notitle = true args.text = args[1] end if not args.text then notext = true end if not notitle then args.title = args.title or args[1] end args["end"] = args["end"] or args.e	args.start = args.start or args.st -- s used to be taken args.quote = args.quote or args.q	if args.title and args.title ~= "" then res = res .. ' ' .. args.title .. ' '	end if args.quote then args.text = args.quote .. "\n>><<\n" .. args.text end if args.text then local newArgs = {} for k, v in pairs(args) do			if k == "text" or k == "title" or k == 1 or k == "quote" or k == "q" or k == "e" or k == "s" or k == "size" or k == "st" or k == 2 or k == "start" or k == "end" then -- do nothing else newArgs[k] = v -- pass on every other parameter (ppoem's got a lot of them) end end local poems = mw.text.split(args.text, ">><<\n", true) for k, v in pairs(poems) do			local paddingleft = 0 v = string.gsub(v, "%^>", "+2>") v = string.gsub(v, "+>", "+1>") local t = mw.text.split(v, "\n", true) if k == 1 then newArgs.start = args.start else newArgs.start = nil end if k == #poems then newArgs["end"] = args["end"] if args["end"] == nil then newArgs.class = args.class elseif mw.title.getCurrentTitle.nsText ~= "page" then newArgs.class = "ws-poem-tpp-not-first-poem" end else newArgs["end"] = nil if args.class then newArgs.class = args.class .. " ws-poem-tpp-not-first-poem" else newArgs.class = "ws-poem-tpp-not-first-poem" end end local parsed = {} for a, b in pairs(t) do				if string.sub(b, 1, 1) == "+" and string.sub(b, 3, 3) == ">" and tonumber(string.sub(b, 2, 2)) and #parsed > tonumber(string.sub(b, 2, 2)) then table.insert(parsed, ' ' .. parsed[#parsed-tonumber(string.sub(b, 2, 2))+1] .. ' ' .. string.sub(b, 4, #b)) elseif mw.ustring.find(b, "^=+$") then for i=1,#b-1,1 do						table.insert(parsed, ' ') end table.insert(parsed, "") elseif mw.ustring.find(b, '^;+') then table.insert(parsed, '' .. mw.ustring.sub(b, j+1, #b) .. " ") paddingleft = math.max(paddingleft, j)				elseif k == 1 and a == 1 and newArgs.start == nil and not (string.match(b, "[><{}%[%]]") or string.match(b, "''")) then -- very hacky, not doing it if there's already HTML/mw formatting local i, j = string.find(b, "^.-%a.-%a.- ") if j then table.insert(parsed, ' ' .. b:sub(i, j) .. ' ' .. b:sub(j, #b)) else table.insert(parsed, ' ' .. b .. ' ') end elseif mw.ustring.find(b, "%[<") then local temp = mw.text.split(b, "%[<") table.insert(parsed, temp[1] .. ' ' .. temp[2] .. ' ') else table.insert(parsed, b)				end end if paddingleft ~= 0 then if args.style then if string.find(args.style, "padding%-left") then local oldpadding = mw.text.trim(mw.text.split(mw.text.split(args.style, "padding%-left *:")[2], ";")[1]) newArgs.style = string.gsub(args.style, "padding%-left:.-;", "") .. ";padding-left:calc(" .. tostring(paddingleft) .. "em + " .. oldpadding .. ");" else newArgs.style = args.style .. ";padding-left:" .. tostring(paddingleft) .. "em;" end else newArgs.style = "padding-left:" .. tostring(paddingleft) .. "em;" end else newArgs.style = args.style end newArgs[1] = table.concat(parsed, "\n") if #parsed == 1 and (k ~= 1 or newArgs.start == nil) and (k ~= #poems or newArgs["end"] == nil) and parsed[1] ~= "" then res = res .. ' ' .. parsed[1] .. ' ' -- no point doing a one-line poem, and this avoids having to put a c for the title, a c for some sort of first-line comment, and then a poem elseif newArgs[1] ~= "" then res = res .. _ppoem(newArgs) end end end

return res end

function p.tpp(frame) local args = getArgs(frame) return p._tpp(args) end

return p

title: Module:Tpp/sandbox


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/74

 Mr. Brewster's butler was surprised and annoyed. For the first time in his official career he had unbent so far as to manifest a personal interest in the welfare of his master. He was on the verge of assuming a responsibility which makes any servant intolerable. But after his interview he resolved that he would never again overstep his position. He made sure that it should be the last offense. The day following the dinner Rawles appeared before young Mr. Brewster and indicated by his manner that the call was an important one. Brewster was seated at his writing-table, deep in thought. The exclamation that followed Rawles's cough of announcement was so sharp and so unmistakably fierce that all other evidence paled into insignificance. The butler's interruption came at a moment when Monty's mental arithmetic was pulling itself out of a very bad rut, and the cough drove it back into chaos.

"What is it," he demanded, irritably.


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Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/75

 Rawles had upset his calculations to the extent of seven or eight hundred dollars.

"I came to report h'an unfortunate condition h'among the servants, sir," said Rawies, stiffening as his responsibility became more and more weighty. He had relaxed temporarily upon entering the room.

"What's the trouble?"

"The trouble's h'ended, sir."

"Then why bother me about it?"

"I thought it would be well for you to know, sir. The servants was going to ask for 'igher wiges to-day, sir."

"You say they were going to ask. Aren't they?" And Monty's eyes lighted up at the thought of new possibilities.

"I convinced them, sir, as how they were getting good pay as it is, sir, and that they ought to be satisfied. They'd be a long time finding a better place and as good wiges. They 'aven't been with you a week, and here they are strikin' for more pay. Really, sir, these American servants"

"Rawles, that'll do!" exploded Monty. The butler's chin went up and his cheeks grew redder than ever.

"I beg pardon, sir," he gasped, with a respectful but injured air.


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 "Rawles, you will kindly not interfere in such matters again. It is not only the privilege, but the duty of every American to strike for higher pay whenever he feels like it, and I want it distinctly understood that I am heartily in favor of their attitude. You will kindly go back and tell them that after a reasonable length of service their wiges—I mean wages—shall be increased. And don't meddle again, Rawles."

Late that afternoon Brewster dropped in at Mrs. DeMille's to talk over plans for the next dinner. He realized that in no other way could he squander his money with a better chance of getting its worth than by throwing himself bodily into society. It went easily, and there could be only one asset arising from it in the end—his own sense of disgust.

"So glad to see you, Monty," greeted Mrs. Dan, glowingly, coming in with a rush. "Come upstairs and I'll give you some tea and a cigarette. I'm not at home to anybody."

"That's very good of you, Mrs. Dan," said he, as they mounted the stairs. "I don't know what I'd do without your help." He was thinking how pretty she was.

"You'd be richer, at any rate," turning to smile upon him from the upper landing. "I was


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 in tears half the night, Monty, over that glass screen," she said, after finding a comfortable place among the cushions of a divan. Brewster dropped into a roomy, lazy chair in front of her and handed her a cigarette, as he responded carelessly:

"It amounted to nothing. Of course, it was very annoying that it should happen while the guests were still there." Then he added, gravely: "In strict confidence, I had planned to have it fall just as we were pushing back our chairs, but the confounded thing disappointed me. That's the trouble with these automatic climaxes; they usually hang fire. It was to have been a sort of Fall of Babylon effect, you know."

"Splendid! But like Babylon, it fell at the wrong time."

For a lively quarter of an hour they discussed people about town, liberally approving the slandered and denouncing the slanderers. A still busier quarter of an hour ensued when together they made up the list of dinner guests. He moved a little writing-table up to the divan, and she looked on eagerly while he wrote down the names she suggested after many puckerings of her fair, aristocratic brow, and then drew lines through them when


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/78

 she changed her mind. Mrs. DeMille handled her people without gloves in making up Monty's lists. The dinners were not hers, and she could afford to do as she pleased with his; he was broad and tall and she was not slow to see that he was indifferent. He did not care who the guests were, or how they came; he merely wished to make sure of their presence. His only blunder was the rather diffident recommendation that Barbara Drew be asked again. If he observed that Mrs. Dan's head sank a little closer to the paper, he attached no importance to the movement; he could not see that her eyes grew narrow, and he paid no attention to the little catch in her breath.

"Wouldn't that be a little—just a little pronounced?" she asked, lightly enough.

"You mean—that people might talk?"

"She might feel conspicuously present."

"Do you think so? We are such good friends, you know."

"Of course, if you'd like to have her," slowly and doubtfully, "why, put her name down. But you evidently haven't seen that." Mrs. Dan pointed to a copy of the Trumpet which lay on the table.

When he had handed her the paper she


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/79

 said, "'The Censor' is growing facetious at your expense."

"I am getting on in society with a vengeance if that ass starts in to write about me. Listen to this"—she had pointed out to him the obnoxious paragraph—"If Brewster Drew a diamond flush, do you suppose he'd catch the queen? And if he caught her, how long do you think she'd remain Drew? Or, if she Drew Brewster, would she be willing to learn such a game as Monte?"

The next morning a writer who signed himself "The Censor" got a thrashing and one Montgomery Brewster had his name in the papers, surrounded by fulsome words of praise.


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/80

 One morning not long after the incidents just related, Brewster lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. There was a worried pucker on his forehead, half-hidden by the rumpled hair, and his eyes were wide and sleepless. He had dined at the Drew's [sic] the evening before and had had an awakening. As he thought of the matter he could recall no special occurrence that he could really use as evidence. Colonel and Mrs. Drew had been as kind as ever and Barbara could not have been more charming. But something had gone wrong and he had endured a wretched evening.

"That little English Johnnie was to blame," he argued. "Of course, Barbara had a right to put any one she liked next to her, but why she should have chosen that silly ass is more than I know. By Jove, if I had been on the other side I'll warrant his grace would have been lost in the dust."

His brain was whirling, and for the first time he was beginning to feel the unpleasant


text:
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 pangs of jealousy. The Duke of Beauchamp he especially disliked, although the poor man had hardly spoken during the dinner. But Monty could not be reconciled. He knew, of course, that Barbara had suitors by the dozen, but it had never occurred to him that they were even seriously considered. Notwithstanding the fact that his encounter with "The Censor" had brought her into undesirable notice, she forgave him everything after a moment's consideration. The first few wrenches of resentment were overbalanced by her American appreciation of chivalry, however inspired. "The Censor" had gone for years unpunished; his coarse wit being aimed at every one who had come into social prominence. So pungent and vindictive was his pen that other men feared him, and there were many who lived in glass houses in terror of a fusilade. Brewster's prompt and sufficient action had checked the pernicious attacks, and he became a hero among men and women. After that night there was no point to "The Censor's" pen. Monty's first qualms of apprehension were swept away when Colonel Drew himself hailed him the morning after the encounter and, in no unmeasured terms, congratulated him upon his achieve-


text:
Author:Jan Willem Boudewijn Gunning

Works

 * (with seven plates)

title: Author:Jan Willem Boudewijn Gunning


text:
Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/1

ISAAC LESIANAWAI

AND

MINISTER FOR IMMIGRATION, CITIZENSHIP AND MULTICULTURAL AFFAIRS

1. A writ of certiorari issue quashing the decision of the delegate of the defendant made on 9 October 2013 to cancel the plaintiff's Class BF 154 Transitional (Permanent) visa.

2. The defendant pay the plaintiff's costs.

Representation

D J Hooke SC with J D Donnelly for the plaintiff (instructed by Zarifi Lawyers)

P M Knowles SC with B D Kaplan for the defendant (instructed by Sparke Helmore)

 * Notice: This copy of the Court's Reasons for Judgment is subject to formal revision prior to publication in the Commonwealth Law Reports.


text: Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/2


text:
Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/3

 CATCHWORDS

Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs

Immigration – Visas – Cancellation of visa – Where plaintiff found guilty of robbery offences when under 16 years of age before Children's Court of New South Wales – Where plaintiff committed subsequent robbery offences as adult – Where plaintiff's visa cancelled under s 501(2) of Migration Act 1958 (Cth) – Where delegate of Minister took into account "National Police Certificate" that listed robbery offences committed by plaintiff when under 16 years of age – Where "National Police Certificate" described plaintiff as being "convicted" of offences dealt with by Children's Court – Where delegate advised that plaintiff had "serious convictions" from 13 years of age – Where, at time of offending, s 14(1)(a) of Children (Criminal Proceedings) Act 1987 (NSW) prohibited Children's Court from proceeding to, or recording, any conviction if child was under 16 years of age – Where s 85ZR(2)(b) of Crimes Act 1914 (Cth) provided that where, under a State law, a person is, in particular circumstances or for a particular purpose, taken never to have been convicted of an offence, the person shall be taken in any State, in corresponding circumstances or for a corresponding purpose, by any Commonwealth authority in that State never to have been convicted of that offence – Whether delegate erroneously took into account matters precluded by ss 85ZR(2)(b) and 85ZS(1)(d)(ii) of Crimes Act by considering the offences committed by plaintiff when under 16 years of age – Whether delegate's decision affected by jurisdictional error.

Words and phrases – "conviction", "criminal history", "finding of guilt", "for any purpose", "jurisdictional error", "materiality", "proceeding to conviction", "recording of conviction", "taken to be", "visa cancellation".

Children (Criminal Proceedings) Act 1987 (NSW), s 14. Crimes Act 1914 (Cth), ss 85ZM, 85ZR, 85ZS. Migration Act 1958 (Cth), s 501(2).


text: Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/4


text:
Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/5

 GAGELER CJ. I agree with Beech-Jones J.


text:
Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/6

Gordon J

GORDON J. I agree with Beech-Jones J.


text:
Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/7

Edelman J

EDELMAN J. I agree with Beech-Jones J.


text: The Tales of Chekhov/Volume 12/Shrove Tuesday


text:
Page:Lesianawai v Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs.pdf/8

Gleeson J

GLEESON J. I agree with Beech-Jones J.


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/228

. Bah! As long as we have the sun—and these ladies—we shall worry along.

. Thank you for including us.

. Were you at the theatre last evening?

. They were and they were not.

. Good! One was and the other was not? An excellent idea!

. Jimena was there.

. It was very exciting.

. Tut, tut, there was nobody there but men.

. You seemed to enjoy it.

. We are invited to sit with Don Baldomero.

. I must leave Jimena with Josefina.

. Goodness, papa! Not before the ladies arrive. It would never do for me to be left alone with these gentlemen. [To and ] Not with your reputations!

. I assure you we shall be judicious.

. Nonsense! Don Teodoro is old enough to be your father. He might be for all you know.

. Why, papa!

. He might and he might not.

. Come with me, Jimena. Good-by, my dear. Remember, we meet in front of the Palace.

. [Going into the box] What a magnificent sight!

. Did you ever see a woman look ugly in a mantilla? [To ] Lend me your glasses; they magnify better than mine do.

. Jimena!

. How charming you look to-day!

. I am leaving her with you.

. But you? Aren't you going to stay?


text:
User talk:তাজবাজ

--Jan Kameníček (talk) 11:08, 7 March 2024 (UTC)

title: User talk:তাজবাজ


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/40

6

Amidmost stood Hell’s daughter, Hate,

Malignant, base, and desolate

Of countenance; prime mover she

Of quarrel, strife, and jealousy.

Her very being, as meseemed.

With black and treacherous poison teemed

Of evil passion, while her dark

And frowning visage bore the mark

Of frenzied madness. Heavenward rose.

As if in scorn, her camus nose,

And round her head, as if with will

To make her foulness fouler still,

A filthy clout had she enwrapped.

Left of her stood a figure, capped

And branded with a legend writ

Full large, which well her face did fit.

It said: “Behold foul Felony.”

And on her right hand Villainy

Stood pictured, and I soothly wot

That ’twixt this evil pair is not

Disparity of one poor hair.

A creature looked she born to bear

Within her bosom rancorous pride;

Her mouth thin lipped, as formed to chide.


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/229

. No. I do not care for these spectacles. On the contrary, they disgust me. Good day.

. Good-by, papa.

. But where is Belisa?

. Belisa is in the next box.

. Oh! With the Remolinos?

. Yes, they invited us both, but, of course, we both preferred to come with you. So in order not to give offense, we had to draw lots, and I was the more fortunate.

. It is very kind of you to say so.

. We have plenty of time.

. Is that the reason you kept shouting at me, "Hurry up! Hurry up!"?

. What else could I do, my dear, with you trying on seven dresses and fourteen mantillas, without getting anywhere with any of them?

. The result is I look like a fright.

. You are too much for your papa and mamma. I cannot stand this any longer, now that Petronila has left. She will never do our hair for us again after the way you have treated her.

. I don't care if she doesn't, mamma. If you are going to talk all afternoon, I might as well sit with Josefina.

. This is too much. That a child should strike her parent such a blow!

. Esperanza, listen to me. No more of your nonsense! I forbid you to notice anybody in the next box. I intend to create a scandal in the plaza.

. A scandal? So that is what you brought me here for?


text:
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. Nothing of the sort. We wanted to get somewhere where there'd be more noise than you could make.

. Now don't begin to cry. Come on into the box.—How do you do, gentlemen?

. Baldomero!

. How charming you look to-day!

. Wonderful! Superb!

. And Jimena?

. Oh! She is with Josefina. They invited us both. Of course, we both preferred to come with you, so in order not to give offense, we had to draw lots, and I was the more fortunate.

. Did you have to draw lots last night to see who was to go to the theatre?

. I should think we did. And poor Jimena was sacrificed!

. I suppose you were there?

. Don Baldomero! Between the acts, as it were, out of curiosity—to see who was in the audience. I never heard such shouting and yelling, booing and hissing, over nothing as it seemed to me.

. They broke all our windows when they came out.

. I lost some lovely double geraniums which I had on my balcony.

. And all in the name of Liberty!

. All because we have an idiot for a governor who does not even know how to govern his wife!

. He cannot control his wife, yet he expects to rule a province.

. Papa, be careful! They'll hear us. They are in the next box.

. That is the reason he speaks so loudly,

. We want them to hear.


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/41

Rh

A master ’twas whose pencil drew

These portraitures, and throughly knew

His hand this face and form to dight

As one who little recked of right,

A woman who would scorn to do

Honour to those to whom ’twas due.

Next her was painted Covetise,

Who eggs men on, for their misease,

To gather but to scatter not.

And store, when nought they need, God wot!

She ’tis the usurer doth cause

To press, unstayed by pity’s laws.

For gain relentlessly. ’Tis she

Doth urge to deeds of felony

Poor thieves, who, when they fall beneath

The hand of Justice, find swift death.

’Tis she that causeth men to take

Their neighbours’ goods, and doth awake

Desire to rob, deceive, and steal;

And ’tis through her that tricksters feel

Impelled to fraud; ’tis she doth make

False pleaders, who, for lucre’s sake.

Full many an innocent youth or maid

Strip bare, by their unholy trade.

Of patrimony. Crooked and bent

Her fingers grew, as they were meant

By nature all to grip and seize

That came anigh her. Covetise

Careth for nought except to get

Her neighbours’ goods within her net.


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/231

. [To ] Are they there yet? Listen…

. Yes. I hear Don Baldomero.

. And I hear his wife. They may drive my husband back to Madrid, but before they do, I promise you that they will hear from me. Oh, they will hear from me!

. How lovely you are when you are angry! How lovely you always are!

. And you are like the people—too forward. I shall have to suspend the constitutional guarantees.

. Sit down by me, Belisa. [To ] You sit on this side.

. I warn you, I shall scream the whole afternoon. Only think! The bull may catch a man!

. It must seem incredible—I mean, he may, he may.

. It is time to begin. We had better pass in. The ladies on this side…

. Yes, as far from Your Excellency as possible. Otherwise it might deprive the public of the freedom to protest.

. Do you think so? Perhaps we had best all sit together…

. Come, Carmen! Come, Jimena!

. This is not a box, Reguera—it is a garden of flowers.

. Thank you! Thank you so much!

. Are you in costume, Polito? Do you expect to qualify in the corrida?

. Remain by me, gentlemen. You understand these things better than I do. I never presided over anything in my life except the Provincial Deputation.


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/42

8

Another image close allied

To Covetise stood side by side

With her. ’Twas Avarice, and she

Looked foul, and stooped most wretchedly.

Her wasted figure, lean and weak.

Was wan and pale as garden leek.

The while her visage, void of blood.

Bespoke her languorous wearihood.

Her corpse-like body looked as fed

On crusts of sour and mouldy bread

Kneaded with leaven thin and eager;

And with intent to hide her meagre

Shrunken limbs she’d o’er them cast

A tattered threadbare garment, past

All hope of mendment, torn and slit,

As though fierce dogs had worried it.

In such poor wretched rags was she

Arrayed, God wot! right beggarly.

Hard by, upon a crazy pin,

Was hung her cloak, outworn and thin:

Wrought of good brunette cloth, once fair

And soft, but now of ermine bare;

And, in the place of costly fur.

Poor Avarice contenteth her

With heavy lambskin, shag and black;

Full twenty years her skinny back

Hath borne its cumbrous weight, for shy

Is Avarice new clothes to buy.

But findeth ever some excuse

To spare her clouts due wear and use;


text:
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. It is time to begin.

. Good! Pass in.

. [To ] No applause at the entrance of my husband? A bad sign!

. Wait. They are holding back.

. Ah! They hiss.

. It's the alguacil. He has lost a stirrup.

. Ay! But they have rattles! They are shaking them at me.

. Campos! There's Campos! How graceful that man is in the arena! He is wearing my cloak.

. He has a new suit.

. The first time of everything.

. We are late.

. The parade has begun. Hurry, I like a fine entrance… How do you do? Gracious! What a crowd! Isn't it stirring?

. Come right in.

. You throw the key, Polito. I'll be sure to hit somebody on the head.

. Did Josefina come with her husband?

. Yes, they are in the next box. Who ever heard of such effrontery? Exhibiting herself in public after what happened this morning! Never mention her to me again.


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/233

. Never mention her to me.

. Ah! Ah! What do you think of him?

. I can't see the animal.

. Didn't I tell you?

. Beautiful! Divine! By Marrullero out of La Pintada, isn't he, papa?

. You understand these things better than I.

. [To ] Can you tell me who that buxom blonde is in the front row of Section Eight?

. Who is she? Oh…

. Everybody knows who she is.

. Now for some sport.

. The picadors!

. Why doesn't Campos throw off that cloak?

. Why doesn't he? I wonder.

. How would you like to be in the ring now?

. The fools! Look! Look! They'll murder the bull

. But what are they there for?

. You needn't tell me that is a bull. It is from the herd of that marquis from Madrid? Ha! It must be from Madrid!

. It looks to me like an ox.

. [Shouting] Ox!

. What makes you call him an ox?

. Don't ask foolish questions, Teresa.

. What are they doing? What a way to begin!


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/234

. [Screaming] Oh! Oh! He'll catch him, he'll kill him!

. That wasn't so bad after all.

. Don't scream like that. There is no reason for you to be afraid.

. What is the matter with Campos? Why don't they go at him the right way?

. I'll give him a tip…

. Don't shout down from here.

. How absurd! He is running away.

. Good afternoon, he says, that will be all for to-day.

. When a bull won't fight, what are you going to do?

. Who says he won't fight? They don't give him a chance. They don't go at him the right way. Ha! Send that rascal to jail! He'll injure the animal. What does he get paid for?

. They call for torpedoes.

. It will be a damned outrage, sir, if you give them torpedoes.

. Ah! Another discussion!

. Take care! He may strike you. The Marquis is capable of anything when it comes to his bulls.

. That would be the last indignity. Does he expect me to go down into the arena and pull him out by the tail? There you are! [''Rhythmic hand-clapping. Palmas de tango''] What is that?

. Palmas de tango, the latest thing in Madrid.

. Yes, I introduced it here last season myself.


text:
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. With the first automobile. I suppose that was the fault of the bull. Look! Look! What a way to handle a lance!

. Didn't I tell you?

. The bull has settled down for a nap.

. Now what am I to do?

. Shoot him, I say.

. He must have influence with the liberal party. He is gubernatorial.

. ''Ay! Ay!'' He'll catch him, he'll kill him!

. Don't you hear the people, Santiago?

. Don't you see the Marquis, Josefina?

. Campos gives the signal.

. The signal for what? The benediction?

. For the banderillas.

. What banderillas? With torpedoes?

. How torpedoes?

. It doesn't matter. Let Campos fix the torpedoes. He will make it all right with the people.

. Good! The banderillas! Ah! Now she is the one to blame.

. No wonder. As soon as he saw the banderillas…

. Ha! That bull can never bear fire.

. No, he is more accustomed to drawing water.


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/82

 ment, assuring him that Barbara and Mrs. Drew approved, although they might lecture him as a matter of form.

But on this morning, as he lay in his bed, Monty was thinking deeply and painfully. He was confronted by a most embarrassing condition and he was discussing it soberly with himself. "I've never told her," he said to himself, "but if she doesn't know my feeling she is not as clever as I think. Besides, I haven't time to make love to her now. If it were any other girl I suppose I'd have to, but Babs, why, she must understand. And yet—damn that Duke!"

In order to woo her properly he would be compelled to neglect financial duties that needed every particle of brain-energy at his command. He found himself opposed at the outset by a startling embarrassment, made absolutely clear by the computations of the night before. The last four days of indifference to finance on one side, and pampering the heart on the other, had proved very costly. To use his own expression, he had been "set back" almost eight thousand dollars. An average like that would be ruinous.

"Why, think of it," he continued. "For each day sacrificed to Barbara I must deduct


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/83

 something like twenty-five hundred dollars. A long campaign would put me irretrievably in the hole; I'd get so far behind that a holocaust couldn't put me even. She can't expect that of me, yet girls are such idiots about devotion, and of course she doesn't know what a heavy task I'm facing. And there are the others—what will they do while I am out of the running? I cannot go to her and say, 'Please, may I have a year's vacation? I'll come back next September.' On the other hand, I shall surely neglect my business if she expects me to compete. What pleasure shall I get out of the seven millions if I lose her? I can't afford to take chances. That Duke won't have seven millions next September, it's true, but he'll have a prodigious argument against me, about the twenty-first or second."

Then a brilliant thought occurred to him which caused him to ring for a messenger-boy with such a show of impatience that Rawles stood aghast. The telegram which Monty wrote was as follows:


text:
Page:Brewster's millions (IA brewstersmillion00greaiala).pdf/84

 "Why isn't that reasonable?" he asked himself after the boy had gone. "Making property over to one's wife is neither a loan nor is it charity. Old Jones might call it needless extravagance, since he's a bachelor, but it's generally done because it's good business." Monty was hopeful.

Following his habit in trouble, he sought Margaret Gray, to whom he could always appeal for advice and consolation. She was to come to his next dinner-party, and it was easy to lead up to the subject in hand by mentioning the other guests.

"And Barbara Drew," he concluded, after naming all the others. They were alone in the library, and she was drinking in the details of the dinner as he related them.

"Wasn't she at your first dinner?" she asked, quickly.

He successfully affected mild embarrassment.

"Yes."

"She must be very attractive." There was no venom in Peggy's heart.

"She is attractive. In fact, she's one of the best, Peggy," he said, paving the way.

"It's too bad she seems to care for that little Duke."


text: The Tales of Chekhov/Volume 12/The Old House


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/43

Rh

And when outworn, her soul doth rue,

Sorely, the cost to purchase new,

But grievously the pinch of cold

Will suffer ere she spends her gold.

With greedy clutch doth Avarice hide

Her purse, which ne’er she openeth wide.

But keeps the strings drawn close and tight,

Consumed with jealous fear lest light

Her coin should see. Alas! but small

Delight doth hence to her befall,

For ne’er from out that purse would she

Spend one poor penny willingly.

Beside her, sad-eyed Envy stood,

Who smileth never. Nothing good

To her doth seem, and nought can cheer

Her soul to joy, or please her ear,

Except it be some evil hap

Befalls, the happiness to sap

Of worthy men, that only she

Heareth or looks on joyfully.

But if perchance some lineage great

Cast down should be from fair estate,

Above all else such case I deem

Would raise her soul to joy supreme.

Should some good man perchance arise

To honour great, within her dies

Her heart; but marvellous delight

Awakes therein when hate and spite

Spur men to wrath. Such rancour grows

Within her breast, that ne’er she shows


text: The Tales of Chekhov/Volume 12/In Passion Week


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/44

10

Love to a friend, nor hath one good

Kind thought towards those who share her blood—

Yea, sorely ’twould her heart distress

Her sire to see in happiness.

Right cruel is the price she pays,

Who walketh thus in devious ways.

And through her cursed spirit she

Suffers forsooth most bitterly;

For in her villain mind doth rage

Torment more rude than thought can gauge

Whene’er she hears of kindly deed

Or worthy act; and sore doth bleed

Her venomous heart enduring this.

Which God’s most righteous vengeance is

Upon her. Envy’s evil tongue

Spares no man, be he old or young.

And if ’twas hers to know perchance

The noblest knight who honours France.

Or one whose fame lies over-sea.

She’d deal them slander equally.

And should their names so fair be found

As made her villain words redound

To eke their praise, then would she try

By mean insinuating lie

To undermine their fame some deal

With venomous wound no balm could heal.

I noted how she seemed to glance

Sideways, with tortuous peep askance.

And furtive leer turned all awry.

Half-closed her slanting evil eye.

Her habit seemed, forsooth, innate

That she towards no man cast a straight


text: The Yellow Book/Volume 3/White Magic

title: The Yellow Book/Volume 3/White Magic


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/45

Rh

And honest gaze, but one eye closed

She kept, as if forsooth she dozed;

Then suddenly ’twas lit with ire

If some fair thing she saw, and fire

Would burn therein, for loves she not

Aught good or beauteous, as I wot.

Then standing Envy close beside.

Was fretful Sorrow, heavy-eyed

And dismal. By her deadly hue

’Twas clear her wretched spirit knew

Unending grief, and thus jaundice

Paled all her blood. E’en Avarice

Than she doth look less poor and lean.

For care and misery, well I ween,

And cruel chagrin and distress.

That day nor night know never cess.

She suffers, and through sickly woe

More lean and pale doth daily grow.

None suffereth martyrdom more dire

Than she, and this begetteth ire

Within her heart, as seemed to me,

And much I doubt if aught could be

Or said or done whereby to ease

Her rooted grief, or calm or please

Her cankered soul, or break the round

Of care wherein her life is bound!

Alike her face and garments wore

Marks of the cruel rage that tore

Her woeful heart. Her nails had scratched

Her cheeks, the while her hands had snatched


text: Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/155

title: Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/155


text:
Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/154

 Twilight

By Olive Custance

title: Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/154


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/46

12

Her rob to rags and plainly spake

What cruel passion was awake

Within her miserable breast,

Outworn with rage, with grief opprest.

Sad token both of spleen and hate,

That left her thus disconsolate.

Around her head hung ragged shocks

Of hair in wild disordered locks,

The which her angry hands had torn,

The while she wept her state forlorn,

Till every eye that saw her grew

Bedewed with tears of pitying rue,

For ceased she not to beat her breast

As though with madness dire possessed.

Her body and soul both seemed to be

Encompassed round with misery;

No pastime sought she, and the bliss

Her mouth ne’er knew of amorous kiss.

The wight whose being is in woe

Immersed hath little will to go

Where merry folk dance, laugh, and sing,

But closely hugs her sorrowing;

For Joy and Sorrow know not how

To dwell in fellowship, I trow.

To Sorrow next was pictured Eld:

Time’s hand all care for food had quelled

Within her, and a foot was she

Less than in youth she woned to be,

Bowed down by toil and drearihead.

Her beauty, years long past, had fled.


text:
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 "He's a bounder," he argued.

"Well, don't take it to heart. You don't have to marry him," and Peggy laughed.

"But I do take it to heart, Peggy," said Monty, seriously. "I'm pretty hard hit, and I want your help. A sister's advice is always the best in a matter of this sort."

She looked into his eyes dully for an instant, not realizing the full importance of his confession.

"You, Monty?" she said, incredulously.

"I've got it bad, Peggy," he replied, staring hard at the floor. She could not understand the cold, gray tone that suddenly enveloped the room. The strange sense of loneliness that came over her was inexplicable. The little something that rose in her throat would not be dislodged, nor could she throw off the weight that seemed pressing down upon her. He saw the odd look in her eyes and the drawn, uncertain smile on her lips, but he attributed them to wonder and incredulity. Somehow, after all these years, he was transformed before her very eyes; she was looking upon a new personality. He was no longer Montgomery, the brother, but she could not explain how and when the change crept over her. What did it all mean? "I am very glad


text:
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 if it will make you happy, Monty," she said slowly, the gray in her lips giving way to red once more. "Does she know?"

"I haven't told her in so many words, Peggy, but—but I'm going to this evening," he announced, lamely.

"This evening?"

"I can't wait," Monty said as he rose to go. "I'm glad you're pleased, Peggy; I need your good wishes. And, Peggy," he continued, with a touch of boyish wistfulness, "do you think there's a chance for a fellow? I've had the very deuce of a time over that Englishman."

It was not quite easy for her to say, "Monty, you are the best in the world. Go in and win."

From the window she watched him swing off down the street, wondering if he would turn to wave his hand to her, his custom for years. But the broad back was straight and uncompromising. His long strides carried him swiftly out of sight, but it was many minutes before she turned her eyes, which were smarting a little, from the point where he was lost in the crowd. The room looked ashen to her as she brought her mind back to it, and somehow things had grown difficult.


text:
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 When Montgomery reached home he found this telegram from Mr. Jones:


text:
Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/47

Rh

And foul of face was she become.

And though old Time had left her some

Sparse, straggling locks, her head was white

As though ’twere floured: the loss were light

If that poor body, worn and waste.

The doubtful woe of death should taste;

For shrivelled were her limbs, and dry.

Faded her once bright lustrous eye;

Wrinkled the cheeks once soft and smooth;

And those once pink-shell ears, forsooth,

Now pendent hung; her pearl-like teeth,

Alas! had long since left their sheath,

And barely could she walk as much

As fathoms four without her crutch.

Time speedeth over night and day.

No rest he taketh nor delay

Of briefest movement makes, but steals

So warily along, man feels

His going nought, but fondly deems

Time standeth still; but while he dreams.

Half-waked, Time’s foot hath passed, I trow,

For none can say that time is—!

Ask thou some learned clerk, while he

Maketh response, the time shall be

Gone and departed three times o’er,

For Time aye passeth, but no more

Returneth: e’en as water flows

For ever onward, but ne’er goes

Back to its source. No thing can ’dure

Against the force of time, though sure

As adamant or iron. Time

Each thing devoureth when its prime


text:
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 It is best not to repeat the expressions Brewster used regarding one S. Jones, after reading his telegram. But he felt considerably relieved after he had uttered them. He fell to reading accounts of the big prize-fight which was to take place in San Francisco that evening. He revelled in the descriptions of "upper cuts" and "left hooks," and learned incidentally that the affair was to be quite one-sided. A local amateur was to box a champion. Quick to see an opportunity, and cajoling himself into the belief that Swearengen Jones could not object to such a display of sportsmanship, Brewster made Harrison book several good wagers on the result. He intimated that he had reason to believe that the favorite would lose. Harrison soon placed three thousand dollars on his man. The young financier felt so sure of the result that he entered the bets on the profit side of his ledger the moment he received Harrison's report.


text:
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 This done, he telephoned Miss Drew. She was not insensible to the significance of his inquiry if she would be in that afternoon. She had observed in him of late a condition of uneasiness, supplemented by moroseness and occasional periods of irascibility. Every girl whose occupation in life is the study of men recognizes these symptoms and knows how to treat them. Barbara had dealt with many men afflicted in this manner, and the flutter of anticipation that came with his urgent plea to see her was tempered by experience. It had something of joy in it, for she cared enough for Montgomery Brewster to have made her anxiously uncertain of his state of mind. She cared, indeed, much more than she intended to confess at the outset.

It was nearly half-past five when he came, and for once the philosophical Miss Drew felt a little irritation. So certain was she of his object in coming that his tardiness was a trifle ruffling. He apologized for being late, and succeeded in banishing the pique that possessed her. It was naturally impossible for him to share all his secrets with her, that is why he did not tell her that Grant & Ripley had called him up to report the receipt of a telegram from Swearengen Jones, in which the


text:
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 gentleman laconically said he could feed the whole State of Montana for less than six thousand dollars. Beyond that there was no comment. Brewster, in dire trepidation, hastened to the office of the attorneys. They smiled when he burst in upon them.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "does the miserly old hayseed expect me to spend a million for newspapers, cigarettes and Boston terriers? I thought he would be reasonable!"

"He evidently has seen the newspaper accounts of your dinner, and this is merely his comment," said Mr. Ripley.

"It's either a warning, or else he's ambiguous in his compliments," growled Brewster, disgustedly.

"I don't believe he disapproved, Mr. Brewster. In the west the old gentleman is widely known as a wit."

"A wit, eh? Then he'll appreciate an answer from me. Have you a telegraph blank, Mr. Grant?"

Two minutes later the following telegram to Swearengen Jones was awaiting the arrival of a messenger-boy, and Brewster was blandly assuring Messrs. Grant & Ripley that he did not "care a rap for the consequences":


text:
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Just before leaving his apartments for Miss Drew's home he received this response from faraway Montana:

"I was beginning to despair, Monty," said Miss Drew, reproachfully, when he had come down from the height of his exasperation and remembered that there were things of more importance.

The light in his eyes brought the faintest tinge of red to her cheeks, and where a moment before there had been annoyance there was now a feeling of serenity. For a moment the silence was fraught with purpose. Monty glanced around the room, uncertain how to begin. It was not so easy as he had imagined.


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 Nyankupong, or Abassi-boom; the equivalent to him, is her husband Nzambi Mpungu, among the followers of Nkissism; but the predominance given in this school to the great Princess Nzambi has had two effects that must be borne in mind in studying the region from Loango to the south bank of Congo. Firstly, it apparently led to Nzambi being confused by the natives with the Holy Virgin, when they were under the tuition of the Roman Catholic missionaries during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; hence Nzambi's cult requires to be studied with the greatest care at the present day. Secondly, partly in consequence of the native predominance given to her, and partly in the predominance she has gained from the aforesaid confusion, women have a very singular position, a superior one to that which they have in other schools; this you will see by reading the stories collected by Mr. Dennett. I will speak no further now concerning these schools of Fetish, for Nkissism is the most southern of the West African schools, its domain extending over the whole of the regions once forming the kingdom of Kongo down to Angola. Below Angola, on the West Coast, you come to the fringing zone of the Kalahi desert, and to those interesting people the Bushmen, of whose religion I am unable, with any personal experience, to speak. Below them you strike South Africa. South Africa is South Africa; West Africa is West Africa. Of the former I know nothing, of the latter alas! only a tenth part of what I should wish to know, so I return to pure Fetish and to its bearing on witchcraft.

title: Page:West African Studies.djvu/211


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 "You are very good to see me," he said at last. "It was absolutely necessary for me to talk to you this evening; I could not have endured the suspense any longer. Barbara, I've spent three or four sleepless nights on your account. Will it spoil your evening if I tell you in plain words what you already know? It won't bother you, will it?" he floundered.

"What do you mean, Monty?" she begged, purposely dense, and with wonderful control of her eyes.

"I love you, Babs," he cried. "I thought you knew about it all along or I should have told you before. That's why I haven't slept. The fear that you may not care for me has driven me nearly to distraction. It couldn't go on any longer. I must know to-day."

There was a gleam in his eyes that made her pose of indifference difficult; the fervor of his half-whispered words took possession of her. She had expected sentiment of such a different character that his frank confession disarmed her completely. Beneath his ardent, abrupt plea there was assurance, the confidence of one who is not to be denied. It was not what he said, but the way he said it. A wave of exultation swept over her, tingling through every nerve.


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 Under the spell her resolution to dally lightly with his emotion suffered a check that almost brought ignominious surrender. Both of her hands were clasped in his when he exultingly resumed the charge against her heart, but she was rapidly regaining control of her emotions and he did not know that he was losing ground with each step he took forward. Barbara Drew loved Brewster, but she was going to make him pay dearly for the brief lapse her composure had experienced. When next she spoke she was again the Miss Drew who had been trained in the ways of the world, and not the young girl in love.

"I care for you a great deal, Monty," she said, "but I'm wondering whether I care enough to—to marry you."

"We haven't known each other very long, Babs," he said, tenderly, "but I think we know each other well enough to be beyond wondering."

"It is like you to manage the whole thing," she said, chidingly. "Can't you give me time to convince myself that I love you as you would like, and as I must love if I expect to be happy with the man I marry?"

"I forgot myself," he said, humbly.

"You forgot me," she protested, gently,


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 touched by this sign of contrition. "I do care for you, Monty, but don't you see it's no little thing you ask of me? I must be sure—very sure—before I—before"

"Don't be so distressed," he pleaded. "You will love me, I know, because you love me now. This means much to me, but it means more to you. You are the woman and you are the one whose happiness should be considered. I can live only in the hope that when I come to you again with this same story and this same question you'll not be afraid to trust yourself to me."

"You deserve to be happy for that, Monty," she said, earnestly, and it was with difficulty that she kept her eyes from wavering as they looked into his.

"You will let me try to make you love me?" he asked, eagerly.

"I may not be worth the struggle."

"I'll take that chance," he replied.

She was conscious of disappointment after he was gone. He had not pleaded as ardently as she had expected and desired, and, try as she would, she could not banish the touch of irritation that had come to haunt her for the night.

Brewster walked to the club, elated that he had at least made a beginning. His position


text: West African Studies/Chapter 4

title: West African Studies/Chapter 4


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 was now clear. Besides losing a fortune he must win Barbara in open competition.

At the theater that evening he met Harrison, who was in a state of jubilation.

"Where did you get that tip?" asked he.

"Tip? What tip?" from Brewster.

"On the prize-fight?"

Brewster's face fell and something cold crept over him.

"How did—what was the result?" he asked, sure of the answer.

"Haven't you heard? Your man knocked him out in the fifth round—surprised everybody."


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 The next two months were busy ones for Brewster. Miss Drew saw him quite as often as before the important interview, but he was always a puzzle to her.

"His attitude is changed somehow," she thought to herself, and then she remembered that "a man who wins a girl after an ardent suit is often like one who runs after a street car and then sits down to read his paper."

In truth after the first few days Monty seemed to have forgotten his competitors, and was resting in the consciousness of his assured position. Each day he sent her flowers and considered that he had more than done his duty. He used no small part of his income on the flowers, but in this case his mission was almost forgotten in his love for Barbara.

Monty's attitude was not due to any wanting of his affection, but to the very unromantic business in which he was engaged. It seemed to him that, plan as he might, he could not devise fresh ways and means to earn $16,000 a


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 day. He was still comfortably ahead in the race, but a famine in opportunities was not far remote. Ten big dinner parties and a string of elaborate after-the-play suppers maintained a fair but insufficient average, and he could see that the time was ripe for radical measures. He could not go on forever with his dinners. People were already beginning to refer to the fact that he was warming his toes on the Social Register, and he had no desire to become the laughing stock of the town. The few slighting, sarcastic remarks about his business ability, chiefly by women and therefore reflected from the men, hurt him. Miss Drew's apparently harmless taunt and Mrs. Dan's open criticism told plainly enough how the wind was blowing, but it was Peggy's gentle questions that cut the deepest. There was such honest concern in her voice that he could see how his profligacy was troubling her and Mrs. Gray. In their eyes, more than in the others, he felt ashamed and humiliated. Finally, goaded by the remark of a bank director which he overheard, "Edwin P. Brewster is turning handsprings in his grave over the way he is going it," Monty resolved to redeem himself in the eyes of his critics. He would show them that his brain was not wholly given over to frivolity.


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 With this project in mind he decided to cause a little excitement in Wall Street. For some days he stealthily watched the stock market and plied his friends with questions about values. Constant reading and observation finally convinced him that Lumber and Fuel Common was the one stock in which he could safely plunge. Casting aside all apprehension, so far as Swearengen Jones was concerned, he prepared for what was to be his one and only venture on the Stock Exchange before the 23d of the following September. With all the cunning and craftiness of a general he laid his plans for the attack. Gardner's face was the picture of despair when Brewster asked him to buy heavily in Lumber and Fuel.

"Good heavens, Monty," cried the broker, "you're joking. Lumber is away up now. It can't possibly go a fraction of a point higher. Take my advice and don't touch it. It opened to-day at 111¾ and closed at 109. Why, man, you're crazy to think about it for an instant."

"I know my business, Gardner," said Brewster, quietly, and his conscience smote him when he saw the flush of mortification creep into the face of his friend. The rebuke had cut Gardner to the quick.

"But, Monty, I know what I'm talking


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 about. At least let me tell you something about this stock," pleaded Elon, loyally, despite the wound.

"Gardy, I've gone into this thing carefully, and if ever a man felt sure about anything I do about this," said Monty, decidedly, but affectionately.

"Take my word for it Lumber can't go any higher. Think of the situation; the lumber men in the north and west are overstocked, and there is a strike ready to go into effect. When that comes the stock will go for a song. The slump is liable to begin any day."

"My mind is made up," said the other firmly, and Gardner was in despair. "Will you or will you not execute an order for me at the opening to-morrow? I'll start with ten thousand shares. What will it cost me to margin it for ten points?"

"At least a hundred thousand, exclusive of commission, which would be twelve and a half a hundred shares." Despite the most strenuous opposition from Gardner, Brewster adhered to his design, and the broker executed the order the next morning. He knew that Brewster had but one chance to win, and that was to buy the stock in a lump instead of distributing it among several brokers and throughout


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 the session. This was a point that Monty had overlooked.

There had been little to excite the Stock Exchange for some weeks: nothing was active and the slightest flurry was hailed as an event. Every one knew that the calm would be disturbed at some near day, but nobody looked for a sensation in Lumber and Fuel. It was a foregone conclusion that a slump was coming, and there was scarcely any trading in the stock. When Elon Gardner, acting for Montgomery Brewster; took ten thousand shares at 108¾ there was a mighty gasp on the Exchange, then a rubbing of eyes, then commotion. Astonishment was followed by nervousness, and then came the struggle.

Brewster, confident that the stock could go no higher, and that sooner or later it must drop, calmly ordered his horse for a ride in the snow-covered park. Even though he knew the venture was to be a failure in the ordinary sense he found joy in the knowledge that he was doing something. He might be a fool, he was at least no longer inactive. The feel of the air was good to him. He was exhilarated by the glitter of the snow, the answering excitement of his horse, the gaiety and sparkle of life about him.


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 Somewhere far back in his inner self there seemed to be the sound of cheering and the clapping of hands. Shortly before noon he reached his club, where he was to lunch with Colonel Drew. In the reading-room he observed that men were looking at him in a manner less casual than was customary. Some of them went so far as to smile encouragingly, and others waved their hands in the most cordial fashion. Three or four very young members looked upon him with admiration and envy, and even the porters seemed more obsequious. There was something strangely oppressive in all this show of deference.

Colonel Drew's dignity relaxed amazingly when he caught sight of the young man. He came forward to meet him and his greeting almost carried Monty off his feet.

"How did you do it, my boy?" cried the Colonel. "She's off a point or two now, I believe, but half an hour ago she was booming. Gad, I never heard of anything more spectacular!"

Monty's heart was in his mouth as he rushed over to the ticker. It did not take him long to grasp the immensity of the disaster. Gardner had bought in at 108¾, and that very action seemed to put new life into the stock. Just as


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 it was on the point of breaking for lack of support along came this sensational order for ten thousand shares; and there could be but one result. At one time in the morning Lumber and Fuel, traded in by excited holders, touched 113½ and seemed in a fair way to hold firm around that figure.

Other men came up and listened eagerly. Brewster realized that his dash in Lumber and Fuel had been a master-stroke of cleverness when considered from the point of view of these men, but a catastrophe from his own.

"I hope you sold it when it was at the top," said the Colonel anxiously.

"I instructed Gardner to sell only when I gave the word," said Monty, lamely. Several of the men looked at him in surprise and disgust.

"Well, if I were you I'd tell him to sell," remarked the Colonel, coldly.

"The effect of your plunge has worn off, Brewster, and the other side will drive prices down. They won't be caught napping again, either," said one of the bystanders earnestly.

"Do you think so?" And there was a note of relief in Monty's voice.

From all sides came the advice to sell at


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, here we come to a very interesting question: What is witchcraft in itself? Conversing freely with the Devil, says Christendom, firmly; and taking the Devil to mean the Spirit of Evil, I am bound to think Christendom is in a way scientifically quite right, though the accepted scientific definition of witchcraft at present is otherwise, and holds witchcraft to be conversing with Natural Science, which of course I cannot accept as the Devil. Thus I cannot reconcile the two definitions should they mean the same thing; and so I am here really in the position of being at one in opinion with the Roman Catholic missionaries of the fifteenth century, who, as soon as they laid eyes on my friend the witch-doctor, recognised him and his goings on as a mass of witchcraft, and went for the whole affair in an exceeding game way.

But let us take the accepted view, that first propounded by Sir Alfred Lyall; and I humbly beg it to be clearly understood I am only speaking of the bearing of that

title: Page:West African Studies.djvu/212


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 once, but Brewster was not to be pushed. He calmly lighted a cigarette, and with an assured air of wisdom told them to wait a little while and see.

"She's already falling off," said some one at the ticker.

When Brewster's bewildered eyes raced over the figures the stock was quoted at 112. His sigh of relief was heard but misunderstood. He might be saved after all. The stock had started to go down and there seemed no reason why it should stop. As he intended to purchase no more it was fair to assume that the backbone was at the breaking point. The crash was bound to come. He could hardly restrain a cry of joy. Even while he stood at the ticker the little instrument began to tell of a further decline. As the price went down his hopes went up.

The bystanders were beginning to be disgusted. "It was only a fluke after all," they said to each other. Colonel Drew was appealed to urge Monty to save himself, and he was on the point of remonstrance when the message came that the threatened strike was off, and that the men were willing to arbitrate. Almost before one could draw breath this startling news began to make itself felt. The certainty of a


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 great strike was one of the things that had made Brewster sure that the price could not hold. With this danger removed there was nothing to jeopardize the earning power of the stock. The next quotation was a point higher.

"You sly dog," said the Colonel, digging Monty in the side. "I had confidence in you all the time."

In ten minutes' time Lumber and Fuel was up to 113 and soaring. Brewster, panic-stricken, rushed to the telephone and called up Gardner.

The broker, hoarse with excitement, was delighted when he recognized Brewster's voice.

"You're a wonder, Monty! I'll see you after the close. How the devil did you do it?" shouted Gardner.

"What's the price now?" asked Brewster.

"One thirteen and three-fourths, and going up all the time. Hooray!"

"Do you think she'll go down again?" demanded Brewster.

"Not if I can help it."

"Very well, then, go and sell out," roared Brewster.

"But she's going up like"

"Sell, damn you! Didn't you hear?"

Gardner, dazed and weak, began selling, and


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 finally liquidated the full line at prices ranging from 114 to 112½, but Montgomery Brewster had cleared $58,550, and all because it was he and not the market that got excited.


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 It was not that he had realized heavily in his investments which caused his friends and his enemies to regard him in a new light; his profit had been quite small, as things go on the Exchange in these days. The mere fact that he had shown such foresight proved sufficient cause for the reversal of opinion. Men looked at him with new interest in their eyes, with fresh confidence. His unfortunate operations in the stock market had restored him to favor in all circles. The man, young or old, who could do what he had done with Lumber and Fuel well deserved the new promises that were being made for him.

Brewster bobbed uncertainly between two emotions—elation and distress. He had achieved two kinds of success—the desired and the undesired. It was but natural that he should feel proud of the distinction the venture had brought to him on one hand, but there was reason for despair over the acquisition of $50,000. It made it necessary for him to undertake an almost superhuman feat—increase


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 the number of his January bills. The plans for the ensuing spring and summer were dimly getting into shape and they covered many startling projects. Since confiding some of them to "Nopper" Harrison, that gentleman had worn a never-decreasing look of worry and anxiety in his eyes.

Rawles added to his despair a day or two after the Stock Exchange misfortune. He brought up the information that six splendid little puppies had come to bless his Boston terrier family, and Joe Bragdon, who was present, enthusiastically predicted that he could get $100 apiece for them. Brewster loved dogs, yet for one single horrible moment he longed to massacre the helpless little creatures. But the old affection came back to him, and he hurried out with Bragdon to inspect the brood.

"And I've either got to sell them or kill them," he groaned. Later on he instructed Bragdon to sell the pups for $25 apiece, and went away, ashamed to look their proud mother in the face.

Fortune smiled on him before the day was over, however. He took "Subway" Smith for a ride in the "Green Juggernaut," bad weather and bad roads notwithstanding. Monty lost


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 control of the machine and headed for a subway excavation. He and Smith saved themselves by leaping to the pavement, sustaining slight bruises, but the great machine crashed through the barricade and dropped to the bottom of the trench far below. To Smith's grief and Brewster's delight the automobile was hopelessly ruined, a clear loss of many thousands. Monty's joy was short-lived, for it was soon learned that three luckless workmen down in the depths had been badly injured by the green meteor from above. The mere fact that Brewster could and did pay liberally for the relief of the poor fellows afforded him little consolation. His carelessness, and possibly his indifference, had brought suffering to these men and their families which was not pleasant to look back upon. Lawsuits were avoided by compromises. Each of the injured men received $4,000.

At this time every one was interested in the charity bazaar at the Astoria. Society was on exhibition, and the public paid for the privilege of gazing at the men and women whose names filled the society columns. Brewster frequented the booth presided over by Miss Drew, and there seemed to be no end to his philanthropy. The bazaar lasted two days and


text: West African Studies/Chapter 5

title: West African Studies/Chapter 5


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 nights, and after that period his account-book showed an even "profit" of nearly $3,000. Monty's serenity, however, was considerably ruffled by the appearance of a new and aggressive claimant for the smiles of the fair Barbara. He was a Californian of immense wealth and unbounded confidence in himself, and letters to people in New York had given him a certain entrée. The triumphs in love and finance that had come with his two score years and ten had demolished every vestige of timidity that may have been born with him. He was successful enough in the world of finance to have become four or five times a millionaire, and he had fared so well in love that twice he had been a widower. Rodney Grimes was starting out to win Barbara with the same dash and impulsiveness that overcame Mary Farrell, the cook in the mining-camp, and Jane Boothroyd, the school-teacher, who came to California ready to marry the first man who asked her. He was a penniless prospector when he married Mary, and when he led Jane to the altar she rejoiced in having captured a husband worth at least $50,000.

He vied with Brewster in patronizing Barbara's booth, and he rushed into the conflict with an impetuosity that seemed destined to carry everything before it. Monty was brushed


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 aside, Barbara was preëmpted as if she were a mining claim and ten days after his arrival in New York, Grimes was the most talked-of man in town. Brewster was not the sort to be dispatched without a struggle, however. Recognizing Grimes as an obstacle, but not as a rival, he once more donned his armor and beset Barbara with all the zest of a champion who seeks to protect and not to conquer. He regarded the Californian as an impostor and summary action was necessary. "I know all about him, Babs," he said one day after he felt sure of his position. "Why, his father was honored by the V. C., on the coast in '49."

"The Victoria Cross?" asked Barbara, innocently.

"No, the vigilance committee."

In this way Monty routed the enemy and cleared the field before the end of another week. Grimes transferred his objectionable affection and Barbara was not even asked to be wife number three. Brewster's campaign was so ardent that he neglected other duties deplorably, falling far behind his improvident average. With Grimes disposed of, he once more forsook the battlefield of love and gave his harassed and undivided attention to his own peculiar business.


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, the “alky” truck driver, who had been hi-jacked and shot the night before, died during the afternoon, without regaining sufficient strength to relate the details of what had occurred to him or to give a description of his assailants. Tony looked down at the boy a moment, then, using again that uncanny yet unconscious knowledge of psychology which he possessed, ordered every member of the gang who could be reached to come in a few at a time and view the body. He felt that the sight of one of their own dead would put the spirit of battle in them. At last he ordered a fine funeral for the boy and went back to his private office in grim silence, vowing vengeance on the North Side gang.

Tony, in a savage humor from the day’s events, was just ready to go home shortly after ten that night when Mike Rinaldo, the dapper gunman, arrived. And the three men who followed him into Tony’s office proved that he had succeeded in his

title: Page:Scarface.pdf/163


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 cerely wish there were another name than Fetish which we could use for it, but the natives have different names for their own religion in different districts, and I do not know what other general name I could suggest, for I am sure that the other name sometimes used in place of Fetish, namely Juju, is, for all the fine wild sound of it, only a modification of the French word for toy or doll, joujou. The French claim to have visited West Africa in the fourteenth century, prior to the Portuguese, and whether this claim can be sustained on historic evidence or no, it is certain that the French have been on the Coast in considerable numbers since the fifteenth century, and no doubt have long called the little objects they saw the natives valuing so strangely joujou, just as I have heard many a Frenchman do down there in my time. Therefore, believing Juju to mean doll or toy, I do not think it is so true a word as Fetish; and, after all, West Africa has a prior right to the use of this word Fetish, for it has grown up out of the word Feitiço used by the Portuguese navigators who rediscovered West Africa with all its wealth and worries for modern Europe. These worthy voyagers, noticing the veneration paid by Africans to certain objects, trees, fish, idols, and so on, very fairly compared these objects with the amulets, talismans, charms, and little images of saints they themselves used, and called those things similarly used by the Africans Feitiço, a word derived from the Latin factitius, in the sense magically artful. Modern French and English writers have adopted this word from the Portuguese; but it is a modern word in its present use. It is not in Johnson, and the term Fétichisme was introduced by De Brosses in his remarkable book, Du Culte des Dieux fetiches, 1760; but doubtless, as Professor Tylor points out, it has obtained a

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text: West African Studies/Chapter 6

title: West African Studies/Chapter 6


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 room. Their eyes met the following sight: Beside the single window stood the big wooden bed with a huge feather mattress. On the crumpled feather bed lay a tumbled, crumpled quilt. The pillow, in a cotton pillow-case, also much crumpled, was dragging on the floor. On the table beside the bed lay a silver watch and a silver twenty-kopeck piece. Beside them lay some sulphur matches. Beside the bed, the little table, and the single chair, there was no furniture in the room. Looking under the bed, the inspector saw a couple of dozen empty bottles, an old straw hat, and a quart of vodka. Under the table lay one top boot, covered with dust. Casting a glance around the room, the magistrate frowned and grew red in the face.

"Scoundrels!" he muttered, clenching his fists.

"And where is Marcus Ivanovitch?" asked Dukovski in a low voice.

"Mind your own business!" Chubikoff answered roughly. "Be good enough to examine the floor! This is not the first case of the kind I have had to deal with! Eugraph Kuzmitch," he said, turning to the inspector, and lowering his voice, "in 1870 I had another case like this. But you must remember it—the murder of the merchant Portraitoff. It was just the same there. The scoundrels murdered him, and dragged the corpse out through the window"

Chubikoff went up to the window, pulled the curtain to one side, and carefully pushed the window. The window opened.

"It opens, you see! It wasn't fastened. Hm! There are tracks under the window. Look! There is the track of a knee! Somebody got in there. We must examine the window thoroughly."

"There is nothing special to be found on the floor," said Dukovski. "No stains or scratches. The only thing I found was a struck safety match. Here it is! So far as I remember, Marcus Ivanovitch did not smoke. And he always used sulphur matches, never safety matches. Perhaps this safety match may serve as a clew!"


text: The Yellow Book/Volume 3/Twilight

title: The Yellow Book/Volume 3/Twilight


text:
Author talk:Jan Willem Boudewijn Gunning

some more bibliographic background
Gunning & Haagner 1910: (also available as a separate publication by the Government Printing and Stationery Office, Pretoria ? ) ← check UBUU. -- Dick Bos (talk) 13:00, 7 March 2024 (UTC)


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 "Oh, do shut up!" cried the magistrate deprecatingly. "You go on about your match! I can't abide these dreamers! Instead of chasing matches, you had better examine the bed!"

After a thorough examination of the bed, Dukovski reported:

"There are no spots, either of blood or of anything else. There are likewise no new torn places. On the pillow there are signs of teeth. The quilt is stained with something which looks like beer and smells like beer. The general aspect of the bed gives grounds for thinking that a struggle took place on it."

"I know there was a struggle, without your telling me! You are not being asked about a struggle. Instead of looking for struggles, you had better"

"Here is one top boot, but there is no sign of the other."

"Well, and what of that?"

"It proves that they strangled him, while he was taking his boots off. He hadn't time to take the second boot off when"

"There you go!—and how do you know they strangled him?"

"There are marks of teeth on the pillow. The pillow itself is badly crumpled, and thrown a couple of yards from the bed."

"Listen to his foolishness! Better come into the garden. You would be better employed examining the garden than digging around here. I can do that without you!"

When they reached the garden they began by examining the grass. The grass under the window was crushed and trampled. A bushy burdock growing under the window close to the wall was also trampled. Dukovski succeeded in finding on it some broken twigs and a piece of cotton wool. On the upper branches were found some fine hairs of dark blue wool.

"What color was his last suit?" Dukovski asked Psyekoff.


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Within me surged the soul of a free man going back

to conquer his enemies and reward his friends.


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 a wood at the extremity of the road: I rode with great swiftness towards it, and soon forced my way through the trees, and obtained from their thick foliage a defence against the fury of the storm. In a short time the weather changed, the clouds dispersed, and the moon rose with additional splendour from the contrast of the black clouds rolling off behind the mountains.

Turning our horses to leave the wood, I observed, at some distance, the turrets of a Castle, which, had not the moon shone full upon them, might never have attracted the notice of any traveller, being enveloped in the thickest of the trees, and far from any public road: Curiosity, or a powerful presentiment, urged me to explore this dwelling; Peter sought to dissuade me, he conceived it to be some ruinous place, the residence of a banditti, which was known to infest the Black Forest and its environs. I allowed the probability of his suggestions, yet could not be persuaded to relinquish my design: It was with much reluctance that he followed me;


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 we pushed through the wood, until we found it so close on every side as to impede the horses from advancing. Peter again urged me to return, as the night was far advanced, and the neighbourhood dangerous, still, an unaccountable propensity to see this retired dwelling made me disregard his solicitations, and despise the apprehension of danger. I dismounted, and fastened my horse to a tree, obliging him to do the same, though he declared we should never see them again, and I firmly believe, had he not been afraid to go back alone, unknowing of the road, that he would have left me; but he run an equal risk, and therefore attended me through almost impassable places, when all at once we came to a declivity, at the bottom of which was a small vale, from whence we saw two towers very plain among some trees at a small distance.

We soon arrived through those trees to a large old building moated all round. After going by the side of the moat, about a hundred yards, we saw a small bridge, which led


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 across to a pair of iron gates, which looked into an outer court, within which was another high wall. Peter I observed trembled with apprehension, but I boldly pulled the bell: In a little time a boy appeared, and demanded "who and what we were?"

I replied, "A Gentleman and his servant, who travelling had lost their way, and begged shelter for the night."

The boy replied, "That his master having been ill, was retired to rest, his Lady also; that the servants were likewise going to bed, and he could not disturb them, or admit strangers into the house: If we returned through the wood, and kept to the right-hand of the Forest, we should reach a small village." Ending these words he disappeared abruptly, and, though I repeatedly called to him, did not return.

Peter rejoiced that we were not to enter this Castle, pressed our immediate return lest our horses should be stolen. Vexed and reluctant I found myself obliged to comply, as I saw no probability of getting entrance


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 there. The next step was to find the village, from whence I hoped to gratify my curiosity respecting this obscure habitation. We soon recovered our horses, and by the light of the moon explored our way from this difficult and dangerous place. After a good deal of trouble and fatigue we reached a few scattered cottages just as the morning dawned, and the poor industrious peasants were coming forth to their daily labour (how did my soul sicken at the sight!) whose ruddy, cheerful countenances bespoke happiness and content; whilst I, possessed of wealth, titles, and what the world might judge perfect felicity, was a prey to every torment, that disappointed love, and a hopeless desire of revenge, could inspire!

We alighted at a miserable public-house, for this being an unfrequented road, no decent accommodation could be expected; we got, however, rest for ourselves, and food and shelter for our poor tired beasts. Peter went to bed, but I had no inclination for sleep, and after eating a couple of eggs, and drink-


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 ing some small wine, I inquired of the mistress of the house the name of the dwelling I had seen, and the quality of its owner?—She said its name was "The Solitary Castle," because of its situation; that it belonged to a great Count, she did not know what he was called, and that for these three years past some great folks lived in it; but nobody in the village knew who they were, they were never seen, and only one man servant came now and then for things they wanted.

This unsatisfactory account, in which there appeared to be a mystery, only augmented my curiosity and desire of penetrating into the secret; impelled by an irresistible impulse, I resolved to stay a few days in that wretched place for the purpose of obtaining further information. Soon, too soon for my peace, was the mystery developed.

About the middle of the day I lay down for a few hours, during which time Peter had risen. When I returned to the room, he entered it after me, and shut the door:"Sir (said he) as I was standing near the


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 window, a man entered the house, whose face was very familiar to me; I was on the point of going out when I heard him bargaining with the woman for ducks; they agreed about the price, and he said he would fetch them to-morrow. He left the house, and again passed before the window, when seeing him again I instantly recollected who he was; then I asked the landlady where he lived?" She answered, "He was servant to the gentry that live in the Solitary Castle."

"Ah! (cried I, interrupting Peter) and who is this man?"

"One of your vassals, Sir, who courted our housekeeper Agnes; his father was a substantial man, and we all thought it would be a match; but you know, Sir, after you returned from Count Zimchaw's, Agnes left you to go home to her mother, and I heard the young man went soon after to Vienna to live with an uncle. What has happened since I don't know; but I'll take my oath, this man I have seen is Mr. Arnulph, though they say he is a servant."


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 "I hope you are right, Peter, then to-morrow I shall have my curiosity gratified."

The to-morrow came, and I was constantly on the watch for the arrival of Arnulph. At length we saw him, and Peter darting out upon him:—"Your servant, Mr. Arnulph, who should have thought of seeing you?" The fellow started, looked wild and motionless:—"Bless me, Peter (said he, falteringly) how, how came you here?"

"Why, I have been travelling round the country, and came here only a day or two ago; but pray do you live in this neighbourhood?"—The fellow, without making a reply, turned to the woman: "I must leave the ducks with you two or three days longer." I had been observing his motions, surprise, confusion, and fear, were marked in his features, and I saw he was retreating to the door as he spoke, a sudden emotion I could not account for, impelled me to spring forward, and seize him by the arm. The moment he saw me he shrieked, and fell on his knees speechless. Peter raised him: "Fol-


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 low me instantly" (exclaimed I, in an agony of suspense, doubt, and hardly knowing what I had to fear or expect:) I led the way to my room. Terror had so evidently overcome his courage that he quietly obeyed. When the door was fastened, I demanded where he lived, and with whom?

After much irresolution, and many subterfuges, he said, he was married to Agnes; that she lived housekeeper, and himself steward, to a Gentleman a few miles off; there was nothing improbable, or likely to interest me in this account, and I was growing very calm, and about to ask some particulars relative to his master; when taking notice of his extreme agitation, the wildness of his looks, and the terror with which he surveyed me and Peter, it naturally engaged me to believe there was some secret which he was fearful of being discovered, and which he was desirous of concealing from me. Possessed with this idea I laid hold of his arm, and in a commanding tone of voice: "Hear me, Mr. Arnulph, I am not to be imposed