text:
Page:Everywoman's World, Volume 8, Number 2.djvu/8

PAGE 6

''Wife and daughters of the former Czar were tireless workers as Red Cross murses. Although of Royal birth, they were always democratic by deed. The daughters are now just plain Olga Romanoff and Tatiana Romanoff.''

OMAN is, for the first in the history of Russia, beginning to have some political influence. This one fact alone guarantees a solution of the many pressing problems that have, since the revolution, kept that country in turmoil.

We in Canada, in common with the people of the other allied countries, have a habit of looking for the nearest way out of war difficulties, forgetting that our allies have domestic problems just as intricate and just as hard hard to understand as our own. Yet, when we get the right perspective, it is readily seen that if the Russian people can establish a stable democratic government by the end of the present year, they will wrought a political miracle, the immensity of which has never before been accomplished.

For some time after this achievement, many reasons will be assigned and many person given credit for this happy condition of affairs. But, in the longer analysis, it will be seen that the women of Russia were directly responsible for bringing order out of chaos and instilling the higher ideals of national and international good will.

HE many problems that have, from time to time, confronted Russia are, on first acquaintance, very difficult to understand because of the different meanings that are given to old causes and old terms, the problems of which have been but partially solved in our own western hemisphere. But from the maze of class distinctions, racial differences, and vast ignorance that envelopes Russia (although in a somewhat lesser degree now than formerly) there stands out the single ray that was really responsible for the transformation that took place during the early months of this year. This enlightening influence was the intuitive feeling for high principled patriotism inherent in every woman who has the best interests of her family at heart, an influence that never shone out to greater advantage than in the present woman's movement in Russia,

When the position of the Russian women of a century ago and the condition into which these same women are merging to-day is considered, it is rather difficult to understand how it has all come about; in fact, so far as histories go and other works of reference, very little space is devoted to women at all. Yet from what meagre information can be gathered it is evident that up to one hundred years ago women in Russia were secluded from the men and filled a position in domestic life little short of vassalage. Even at the present time they are not permitted to come within the Ikonastes, the common altar, of the Greek Catholic Church, which is the State church of Russia. But, despite all her disabilities, the women of Russia have been the potent influence in both industrial and political bodies. They have been the natural propagandists among the peasantry, and are untiring in their efforts to keep alive the flame of freedom and thus work toward a more equitable distribution of justice,

The awakening of democracy, while it had been working quietly and in unseen ways for some years, really broke out into action, so far as the women were concerned, on April 11th, 1904, when, through the influence of Father Gapon, the "Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers" came into being. Concerning this association, James Mavor, Ph.D., Professor of Political Science, University of Toronto, notes, on page 458 of his celebrated work, "The Economic History of Russia," that "the history of the labour movement in Russia was expounded and discussed at all meetings. Among the propagandists there was a small group of social democrats who necessarily gave a certain direction to the debates.

"Women became members of branches in considerable numbers. In the late autumn (1904) they numbered nearly a thousand in all branches. The leader among the women was an intelligent working woman known as 'V. M. K.' At first the presence of women was resented by the working men, and even by Father Gapon himself. The women's meetings were fairly succesful, although attempts to interest women of the intelligentsia in the movement conspicuously failed."

All women are, by nature, religious, and this is true of the Russian woman to a striking degree. The late Czar, by virtue of his position, was head of the Greek Catholic Church, and from that eminence, he held a peculiar power over the peasantry. This was one of the reasons why the movement toward democracy moved with such faltering steps and, but for the unusual conditions brought about by the pro-German sympathies of the bureaucracy in Russia, a limited monarchy would probably have been the net result of the recent revolution. Even to-day peasant women are heard to exclaim, "How shall we now say our prayers?" and it has to be explained to them that they can pray to the Duma in place of the Czar and their prayers will be abundantly answered.

The big feature that has helped the Provisional Government along their way has been a handicap to them as well; Russian women are certainly looking to the new Government to solve their food problem and to solve it quickly. When it is understood that this food problem, as it existed last winter, was primarily an artificial famine, it is readily seen, that to some extent, the condition of things will soon be ameliorated.

Another thing that has helped the forward movement of Russia immensely has been the prohibition measure inaugurated by the Czar at the start of the War. The women of Russia, like the women of every other country, have always hated alcohol because, they have always been the chief sufferers. In Russia to-day the bureaucrats claim that the Czar ruined himself by decreeing the abolition vodka. Their argument is that none but sober people could have carried out the revolution, and that had the heads of the populace in Petrograd and other cities, been besotted by drink they would never have understood or been able to defeat the reactionary plots; nor would the revolution have been so remarkably free from sanguinary excess on a large scale. The police were, on the other hand, the victims of drink. They had seized vodka by order of the Government and had kept plentiful supplies for themselves. Thus the revolution was in part a struggle between drunken reactionaries and sober citizens, and sobriety triumphed, ably assisted by women "burdened with the persecution of centuries."

Probably the biggest reason why women in Russia have become more powerful is to be found in the fact that since the Great War broke out they have been more or less dependent on themselves in the many and new problems they have had to face. With their husbands, brothers, and sons, either in the battle line or working on munitions, they have had to look after the crops, to work in factories, and, to a certain extent, fill, but in lesser degree, the work our own women have been and are doing to help the common cause. This has given them a new and more direct interest, not only in their own welfare, but in the machinery of Government and it has vitalized latent forces that have never before been utilized.

''Prominent Russian men and women attending an art exhibition. Mme. Maria Levinskaja, the famous Russian pianist is the figure in white.''

UST as the Government of Great Britain and Ex-Premier Asquith have been won over to Woman Suffrage by women's efficient part in the nation's work, so have prominent leaders in Russia come to see that women must be given a higher citizenship than they possessed in the past. On the very eve of the revolution the labour leader, Kerenski, now Minister of Justice, commented enthusiastically on the Sacchi Woman Suffrage Bill which was recently brought into the Italian Chamber of Deputies.

"I am a firm supporter of the full Franchise for and emancipation of woman," he said. "I heartily welcome Signor Sacchi's Bill. I think that wars bring to women numerous new fields of endeavour which must destroy the last prejudices holding them subordinate to men and bring conviction to all opponents of electoral rights for women."

M. Roditcheff, another Duma member, stated that he sympathised heartily with the movement for Woman Suffrage.

"Italy's Woman Suffrage Bill," said Deputy Alexanderoff, "is cordially welcomed because it removes the injustice that has forcibly deprived woman's creative genius of the possibility of doing its share in directing the State's political life. I hope that the idea of Equal Rights for men and women will soon be realized in Russia. It is especially desirable that the women shall have votes in our town and country Zemstvos and Assemblies. This is demanded, not only on the principle of fairness, but because of simple, practical necessity."

Mme. Sheckshkina Yavin, President of the Council of the "Russian League for Equal Rights for Women," when interviewed, said: "Italy, where the cultural development of women is comparatively low, thinks it necessary to grant votes to women; in Russia, where the cultural level of women stands so high, the question of votes for women has long been ripe for settlement. I hope that the Bill will pass the Italian Chamber and that we shall gain similar rights in Russia before long."

Mme. Shebanoff, another prominent suffragist, rejoiced at the introduction of the Italian Bill and spoke hopefully of the situation in France and England. It was her opinion that Russian women would soon have the right to vote, and more quickly than is generally expected.

But, from a study of the racial, social and political difficulties, it is not likely that women will be granted yotes in the national Duma for some time yet, but it is highly probable that votes in the Zemstvos (provincial councils) and the town Assemblies will be Biven to women some time during this year.

When it is taken into consideration that there are ninety-eight provinces in Russia and that if a Republican form of Government be finally adopted it must resolve itself into a federation of free States, it is easily seen that modern democracy has taken a very long step forward, and that the day is not far of when Equal Suffrage will obtain all over Greater Russia.

VERY few years ago, not more than a dozen or so, the percentage of illiteracy was very high among the peasant women of Russia. Nowadays schools are being opened everywhere, and the prejudice of the peasants against education is gradually disappearing. The War has, undoubtedly, had an immense influence in bringing this about and will probably eliminate the feeling formerly held against education. Already the desire to read letters from the Front has urged many a peasant woman to encourage her children to attend the village school, so that they may spell out the news written home by their fathers and brothers, and be able to write in reply.

In bringing about this improved condition of things in Russia the middle class women, or intelligentsia, as they are called, have been by far the biggest factors. In remote village communities, where life at the best is dull and monotonous, these earnest minded-girls, far from all home ties are spending their lives in teaching the peasant children the helpful blessings to be found in books. This has been and is a work of real sacrifice, and it is due entirely to the idealism which permeates Russian womanhood ae their work is, at last, becoming a success.

The enacting of the law prohibiting the sale of vodka dispensed with the old-time vodka shop and stiumulated the establishment of educational and recreational centres where all the members of the community might gather together and exchange thoughts on common problems. The People's Palaces, a recent institution, are filling this need admirably. In the larger communities these are usedf to the fullest possible degree. Buffet and tea rooms are attached where refreshments are served, (Continued on page 49)

''Energetic Russian society women on ome of the committees to provide comforts for the soldiers. In the picture are shown Zia and Nada Torby, daughters of the former Grand Duke Michael.''


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/**	 * Clean up OCR errors in the text, and push content at the top * & bottom of the page into the header & footer boxes respectively. * @param {object} editor The script helpers for the page. */	var pageCleanup = function(editor) { _initialise; // push content at the top & bottom into the header & footer if (editor.get.match(/^/)) { var text = editor.get; var e = text.indexOf(" "); $('#wpHeaderTextbox').val(function(i, val) {				return $.trim(val + "\n" + text.substr(11, e-11).replace(/^\s+|\s+$/g, ''));			}); editor.set(text.substr(e+12)); }		if (editor.get.match(/<\/noinclude\>$/)) { var text = editor.get; var s = text.lastIndexOf(" "); $('#wpFooterTextbox').val(function(i, val) {				return $.trim(text.substr(s+11, text.length-s-11-12).replace(/^\s+|\s+$/g, '') + "\n" + val);			}); editor.set(text.substr(0, s)); }		// clean up text editor //rajout .replace(/66\n/g, '\n"')			// remove trailing spaces at the end of each line			.replace(/ +\n/g, '\n')

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// remove trailing spaces at the end of refs .replace(/ +<\/ref>/g, ' ') // remove trailing spaces at the end of template calls .replace(/ +}}/g, '}}') // ajout // remplace --- par longdash .replace(/---/g, '') //remplace les balises par un formatage poème centré petit .replace(/ /g, '') //supprime espace et double espace au début de la ligne .replace(/\n {2}/g, '\n') .replace(/\n {1}/g, '\n') //pareil au début de la page .replace(/^ {2}/g, '') .replace(/^ {1}/g, '') //remplace @ par un formatage début de titre .replace(/@/g, '\n\n\n\n\n') //supprime en-tête .replace(/FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD.\n/g, '') .replace(/FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD/g, '') //supprime watermark .replace(/Univ Calif - Digitized by Microsoft®/g, '') .replace(/Univ Calif - Digitized by Microsoft ®/g, '') .replace(/Univ Calif - Digitized by Microsoft/g, '') .replace(/Ⓡ/g, '') //supprime nombres .replace(/[0-9]/g, '') // convert double-hyphen to mdash (avoiding breaking HTML comment syntax) .replace(/([^\!])--([^>])/g, '$1—$2') // remove spacing around mdash, but only if it has spaces on both sides // (we don't want to remove the trailing space from "...as follows:— ",			// bearing in mind that the space will already be gone if at end of line). .replace(/ +— +/g, '—') // join words that are hyphenated across a line break, and weird OCR hyphens (¬) // (but leave "|-" table syntax alone) .replace(/([^\|])[-¬]\n/g, '$1') ;

// clean up pages if they don't have if (!editor.contains(' ')) { editor // lines that start with " should probably be new lines,				// if the previous line ends in punctuation,				// other than a comma or semicolon				// and let's get rid of trailing space while we're at it*/				.replace(/([^\n\w,;])\n\" */g, '$1\n\n"')				// lines that end with " should probably precede a new line, // unless preceded by a comma, // or unless the new line starts with a lower-case letter; // and let's get rid of preceding space while we're at it				.replace(/([^,])\ *\"\n([^a-z\n])/g, '$1"\n\n$2') // remove single line breaks; preserve multiple. // but not if there's a tag, template or table syntax either side of the line break .replace(/([^>}\|\n])\n([^:#\*<{\|\n])/g, '$1 $2') // collapse sequences of spaces into a single space .replace(/ +/g, ' ') ;		}		// more page cleanup editor // dump spurious hard breaks at the end of paragraphs .replace(/\n\n/g, '\n\n')

// remove unwanted spaces around punctuation marks .replace(/ ([;:\?!,])/g, '$1') // unicodify .replace(/—/g, '—') .replace(/–/g, '–') .replace(/"/g, '"')			// straighten quotes and apostrophes.			.replace(/[“”]/g, '"') .replace(/[‘’`]/g, '\'') //OCR fixes // convert i9 to 19, etc.			.replace(/[il]([0-9])/g, '1$1') // "the", "them", "their", etcetera .replace(/tlie/g, 'the') // "U" -> "ll" when preceded by a lowercase letter. .replace(/([a-z])U/g, '$1ll') // "would", "could" .replace(/woidd/g, 'would') .replace(/coidd/g, 'could') .replace(/shoidd/g, 'should') // many works have apostrophes missing from OCR .replace(/([a-z]) s\b/g, '$1\'s') // it's he's etc .replace(/n t\b/g, 'n\'t') //can't isn't didn't etc .replace(/([a-zI]) ll\b/g, '$1\'ll') // I'll we'll etc .replace(/\bI m\b/g, 'I\'m') // I'm			.replace(/\b([Yy])ou re\b/g, '$1ou\'re') // you're			.replace(/\b([Ww])e re\b/g, '$1e\'re') // we're			.replace(/\b([Tt])hey re\b/g, '$1hey\'re') // they're			.replace(/([a-zI]) ve\b/g, '$1\'ve') // I've we've etc // expand diacritical templates .replace(//g, '') // replace "float center" with "block center"; original template name was misleading enough be warrant routinely fixing .replace(/\{\{float center/g, '{{block center') .replace(/ \s*([.\n]*?)\s*<\/center>/g, '{{center|$1}}') // ajouts // remplace "' '" par le bon template //			.replace(/"'/g, '{{" \'}}') //			.replace(/'"/g, '{{\' "}}') // ,"" -> converter /*			.replace(/," /g, ', (')			.replace(/, "/g, ') ') .replace(/; "/g, ';) ')			.replace(/!" s/g, '! (s') .replace(/ -/g, '—') .replace(/!" c/g, '! (c')			.replace(/Mrs /g, 'Mrs. ')			.replace(/Mr /g, 'Mr. ')			.replace(/St /g, 'St. ')

.replace(/ 1 /g, ' I ') .replace(/\(\(/g, '(')			.replace(/,\(/g, ', (')			.replace(/\n" /g, '\n"')			.replace(/: " /g, ': "') //			.replace(/66 /g, '"')

.replace(/\. \./g, '\.\.') //convertisseur anti long s ou f			/* .replace(/fp/g, 'sp') .replace(/fs/g, 'ss') .replace(/ffu/g, 'ssu') .replace(/fex/g, 'sex') .replace(/ffion/g, 'ssion') .replace(/feldom/g, 'seldom') .replace(/fh/g, 'sh') .replace(/fign/g, 'sign') .replace(/fuch/g, 'such') .replace(/foon/g, 'soon') .replace(/addreff/g, 'address') .replace(/ufy/g, 'usy') .replace(/ fy/g, ' sy') .replace(/effi/g, 'essi') .replace(/ ft/g, ' st') .replace(/occafio/g, 'occasio') .replace(/ fent/g, ' sent') .replace(/fup/g, 'sup') .replace(/ufi/g, 'usi') .replace(/leaft/g, 'least') .replace(/fong/g, 'song') .replace(/ufu/g, 'usu') .replace(/faw/g, 'saw') .replace(/effed/g, 'essed') .replace(/fome /g, 'some ') .replace(/laft/g, 'last') .replace(/referv/g, 'reserv') .replace(/kiff/g, 'kiss') .replace(/feem/g, 'seem') .replace(/ fo /g, ' so ') .replace(/filen/g, 'silen') .replace(/fob/g, 'sob') .replace(/hafte/g, 'haste') .replace(/ fide/g, ' side') .replace(/feeing/g, 'seeing') .replace(/feem/g, 'seem') .replace(/feen/g, 'seen') .replace(/to rife/g, 'to rise') .replace(/ceaf/g, 'ceas') .replace(/eferv/g, 'eserv') .replace(/fecr/g, 'secr') .replace(/fc/g, 'sc') .replace(/ifun/g, 'isun') .replace(/fta/g, 'sta') .replace(/fk/g, 'sk') .replace(/fity/g, 'sity') .replace(/fta/g, 'sta') .replace(/fub/g, 'sub') .replace(/maft/g, 'mast') .replace(/hefe/g, 'hese') .replace(/fw/g, 'sw') .replace(/ofom/g, 'osom') .replace(/ſ/g, 's') .replace(/furp/g, 'surp') .replace(/ifed/g, 'ised') .replace(/fay/g, 'say') .replace(/felf/g, 'self') .replace(/pofi/g, 'posi') .replace(/uft/g, 'ust') .replace(/faid/g, 'said') .replace(/fearc/g, 'searc') .replace(/fto/g, 'sto') .replace(/fing([^e])/g, '$1sing$2') //will give trouble with "singed" and "singer" .replace(/efti/g, 'esti') .replace(/rft/g, 'rst') .replace(/moft/g, 'most') .replace(/dift/g, 'dist') .replace(/caft/g, 'cast') .replace(/nft/g, 'nst') .replace(/ufe/g, 'use') .replace(/fome([^n])/g, 'some$1') .replace(/hofe/g, 'hose') .replace(/faft/g, 'fast') .replace(/([^dlih])eft/g, '$1est') //will give trouble with "bereft" .replace(/lfo/g, 'lso') .replace(/horfe/g, 'horse') .replace(/ fet /g, ' set ') .replace(/paff/g, 'pass') .replace(/lofe/g, 'lose') .replace(/poff/g, 'poss') .replace(/fb/g, 'sb') .replace(/eafi/g, 'easi') .replace(/myf/g, 'mys') .replace(/fenfe/g, 'sense') .replace(/ftr/g, 'str') .replace(/taft/g, 'tast') .replace(/mif/g, 'mis') .replace(/ rof/g, ' ros') .replace(/fm/g, 'sm') .replace(/fible/g, 'sible') .replace(/fince/g, 'since') .replace(/fevera/g, 'severa') .replace(/([^hl])eft /g, '$1est ') .replace(/,\n/g, '.\n') //comma placed before a new line is turned into period .replace(/fervant/g, 'servant') */			//tesserakt wrangler .replace(/ſ/g, 's') .replace(/([a-z])\. ([a-z])/g, '$1 $2') .replace(/cd /g, 'ed ') //space to not trigger "anecdote" .replace(/cb/g, 'eb') .replace(/\* /g, '"')			.replace(/\*/g, '')			.replace(/« |«/g, '"') .replace(/© /g, '"')			.replace(/1/g, 'I')			.replace(/""/g, '"') .replace(/< /g, '') .replace(/= /g, '') .replace(/ ir /g, ' it ') .replace(/ Ir /g, ' It ') .replace(/\]|\[/g, 'I') .replace(/ \. /g, ' ') .replace(/ - /g, '—') .replace(/— /g, '—') .replace(/©/g, '') .replace(/\?"\?/g, '?"') //	.replace(/([a-z])\'([a-z])/g, '$1 $2') .replace(/ -([a-z])/g, ' $1') .replace(/([a-z])- /g, '$1 ') .replace(/ ' /g, ' ') .replace(/ \.([a-z])/g, ' $1') .replace(/,,/g, ',') .replace(/([a-z])\.([a-z])/g, '$1 $2') //	.replace(/([a-z]) s /g, '$1\'s ') //	.replace(/([a-z]) s,/g, '$1\'s,') //	.replace(/([a-z]) s./g, '$1\'s.') .replace(/o clock/g, 'o\'clock') .replace(/([a-z]) ll /g, '$1\'ll ') .replace(/([a-z]) t /g, '$1\'t ') .replace(/([a-z]) re /g, '$1\'re ') .replace(/([a-z]) m /g, '$1\'m ') //replaces " being replaced by ' " .replace(/'\n\n"/g, '"') ;	};	/**	 * As you work your way through the page, when you encounter a reference, just mark it with tags and continue. * Once you've got to the end of the page and proofed the references, simply highlight each reference in turn, * and use this function to move it to its proper position. * @param {object} editor The script helpers for the page. */	var makeReference = function(editor) { _initialise; var editbox = $('#wpTextbox1').get(0); editbox.focus; var refStart = editbox.selectionStart; var refEnd = editbox.selectionEnd;

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

title: User:Ostrea/proofreading.js


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Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Third series (IA playstranslatedf03benauoft).pdf/52

. Hello! What is this? Is there nobody here? Do we never eat in this house? Gods!… You gadding women!

. Don't call out; here I am.

. Who is this fellow?

. Your humble servant. [Aside] I don't like him. That enormous paunch doesn't make me feel comfortable; it's a bad sign. He's an ogre.

. He is a traveller who has lost his way at the entrance to the Dark Wood. There were two others with him, but surely they were mad, as they stayed behind by the roadside. This fellow told me that he was dying with hunger and fatigue, and I invited him to our house.

. Hum! I don't like these gentry who go about losing themselves on the roads. By your looks, you must be one of those jabbering jugglers who sing and dance at the country crossways so as to wheedle blockheads out of their pennies.

. I am something better than that; I am the attendant of the Blue Prince.

. His fool, you mean. A miserable position!

. And was that the Prince who was with you—that unfortunate young man who ran off into the wood? Poor boy! What can have become of him? 18


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 186 AT THE FALLS.

that astonished herself, and she felt her heart stop beating.

“Oh, yes—at first!” May replied, hurriedly, “Oh! Cora——”

“I am sure you have something totell me, my dear,” Cora said; when she broke off abruptly, ‘I think I know what it is.”

“Don’t!” whispered May. ‘Oh! it frightens me yet.’ ’

She clung fast to Cora; and Cora held her close in her arms, and was thankful that she could offer a prayer for the girl’s happiness, though all the while she felt death in her heart, and knew that however long the semblance of existence might last, life was at an end where anything like interest or hope for herself was concerned; it had died in the shudder of agony which shook the very springs of her being, when May’s happy voice broke beneath its passion of bliss and delicious shyness.

“Cora,” May said, suddenly, still with her head turned aside, “Mr. Wellesley is going away this morning—he wants to bid you good-by.”

“Going?” exclaimed Cora.

“Yes; fora day or two only. He got a telegram last night. Please go down—he is in mammi’s sitting-room. There’s nobody there.”

Cora knew what it signified; the trembling voice, the broken. words—the worst agony was over; she could bear anything now, could even see him—see the pride and joy in his face, do her part without faltering.

She clasped May more closely in her arms, kissed the bonny brown hair that hung about her shoulders, and said, softly,

“God bless my darling, and make her a happy woman!”

She went straight out of the room without looking back, gave herself not an instant to think, made no pause until her hand was upon the door of the room where May’s lover waited.

The very thought that came into her mind— May’s lover—it gave her a wild sort of strength which she knew would support her to the end.

She opened the door; there was no tremor in her limbs, no mist before her eyes—she felt dead and cold; she was not conscious even of any suffering, she was just walking about like a ghost whose penance it was to linger upon earth and watch the happiness of those still left here clothed in mortality, and bearing mortality’s sensations and happiness.

She saw him rise and come toward her; she was the calmer of the two, and beld out her white hand, and was the first to speak. ‘May tells me we are forced to bid you good-by,” she said. “I am sorry; but I trust you are coming back so soon that we can at once begin to think of your return in order to console ourselves.”

“Thank you!” he answered; and Cora was conscious of a vague wonder that his voice should sound so uncertain and tremulous in this first hour of his certainty of his own triumph.

He led her to a seat, and sat down beside her. She glanced at him once, and saw that he was deathly pale; anda fear of some evil for him banished all selfish thoughts.

“Are you in any trouble?” she asked, quickly. “Is there any bad news you wish me to break to May?”

“No,” he said, gravely, “no. away—shall I come back?”

“Of course, you are coming, I know from May. She did not tell me, but I understand everything.”

“Yes, May is very happy,” he said, “and I am so glad. Wentworth is a noble young fellow; but that is not it——”

“Wentworth!” repeated Cora, in horror.

Oh! this was worst of all; he was suffering— May did not love him.

“Wentworth!”’ she repeated.

“Yes; don’t you know your willful little cousin put him out of his suspense this morning?”

“I am so sorry; oh! do believe it! I don’t know what to say—I——”

“We can leave them to their happiness,” he went on, when he saw that she could not finish. “I am a selfish mortal, and must think of my own hopes and fears. May I come back, Cora?”

Was she going mad? Did her senses play her false?

“Oh! don’t you understand?” he cried out. “I love you; I had seen you long before you ever saw me; and, mad as it was, I loved you from the first. May knew it—sent for me here. Cora, don’t drive me from you. Give me a hope—may I come back?”

There was an odd little gasp in her throat, which made him look suddenly in her face; he read the whole truth there, and the next instant Cora felt herself pressed to his heart, and heard the words of love and tenderness which burst from his very soul.

It was all made clear in the long hour that elapsed before they were disturbed; then May danced into the room, exclaiming,

“There's a train going, and there’s a poor wretch must go on it. Is it all right?”

Their faces must have answered, for she

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/187


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Rh themselves to form definite conceptions because they lack the patience or the ability to penetrate into the inner nature or heart of things; satisfied with the vaguenesses of circling mists and clouds and semblances rather than the clear sunshine of heaven and the vividly outlined realities of truth. But a task thislike this [sic] of most arduous accomplishment in the estimation of all thinking, meditative, practical men; satisfied only with those enduring substances that shall survive every change of fleeting form, and every variation of perishable accident. Happily Mr. Adam belonged to the latter class, who alone truly benefit their fellows—brightening the world with their discoveries, or enriching it with the mellowed fruits of their well-directed labours. He knew full well that, however single or simple any result may appear when fully realised, diverse and numerous may be the means and the instrumentalities that prepare the way for it. Single and simple in the symmetry of its general design, and the magnificence of its general effect, is the British cathedral of St. Paul’s. But who can reckon up in order the variety of rude materials, and scaffoldings, and locomotive and other physical forces which contributed towards the realisation of so stupendous a fabric? How simple are laws, and how briefly and summarily may they be axiomatically announced? Yet for their evolution under the plastic energy of the most inventive genius, nought less could have sufficed than the wondrously minute and complicated observations of, the noble Dane, perseveringly accumulated throughout a period of forty long years, in his astronomical palace of Urania: while the laws of Kepler and the amassed stores of Tycho Brahe were alike essential preparatives for the final generalization of —the grandest and most sublime that has yet adorned the domains of science or rewarded the industry of disciplined intellect. So it is, in their several proportions and degrees, with every other notable result. In the present instance, it may be granted that a numerical statement of the proportion of instructed to uninstructed adults, and of children capable of receiving to children actually receiving instruction, would embody the sum and substance of the principal information sought for. But, in order to secure and guard the accuracy of such a statement, how many collateral, subordinate, and auxiliary details become indispensable? For example, suppose the number of the whole teachable or school-going population alone were required, and suppose the teachable or school-going age were assumed, as Mr. Adam, after full consideration and inquiry, did assume it, to be from 5 to 14 years, it soon became evident to him that “having to deal in this matter for the most part with


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. By this time he has met the good fairy.

. Yes—among those cutthroats. Poor fellow!

. Well, well! Enough of this! Bring on the dinner, and send this brazen-faced rascal out into the stable, and you can feed him the leavings there, if there are any.

. Don't be so mean. Let him eat and drink here at his leisure. He will amuse us with his jokes and his songs.

. Such things never amuse me. But sit down where you like and wait till we have finished dinner. Bring it in.

. [Aside] Oh! What torture! To watch them eat and yet not taste one mouthful! I'd rather the Ogre had begun by eating me first. I can't have struck him as very appetizing. [Aloud] Sir… sir… Haven't you thought of me? My flesh is of the very best quality. My breast is tender, and my arms are like pigeon-wings…

. What do I care? In the name of thunder! Are you mad or drunk?

. [Aside] It's no use, he doesn't care for me. He only likes tender little children. To tell the truth, with a table like this every day… [The dinner is carried in.] [Aloud] Ah! How good it smells! That roast pig will be the death of me…

. It smells good, doesn't it? I will leave you a bone.

. [Aside] Poor fellow! I must slip him something on the sly.

. [Aside] Thanks, lovely lady. You save my life. Ah! Delicious!

. Well! Where are your spirits? Is this all you can do? Tell me some joke.

. Ah!…

. What's the matter?

. Nothing, nothing.


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. Are you swallowing?

. No, no. A mistake. [Aside to the ] A glass of water, for heaven's sake! I am choking.

. Don't be so cruel. Let him at least have a drink.

. Yes. Let him have a drink.

. Here.

. To the health of such a noble gentleman. Ah!… The wine is good. Good wine!

. Of my own vintage.

. Now I understand that you are a happy man.

. Go up to those windows there. Cast your eye upon that distant mountain; well, as far as that all this country belongs to me. Behind the mountain, there lie other lands, until you come to a river; well, as far as that, all this country belongs to me. Beyond the river there are as many other lands, which stretch down as far as the sea; well, as far as the sea, all this country belongs to me.

. But not the sea? What a pity!

. The sea wouldn't be of any use to me. The sea is for fishes and sailors, adventurous folk. I am a practical man.

. So I see.

. I live here happier than a king.

. It may be… I never saw a king eat with such an appetite.

. Well, then, this is nothing more than lunch. At noon to-day I dined on a roast calf. And for supper… Ah! For supper I have reserved the choicest morsel.

. [Aside] Uy! Now he is looking at me. He has made up his mind to reserve me for supper. [Aloud] But you don't know how tired I am—after my journey—walking so far. I am not fit, not presentable…


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 THE APPLE - TREE IN THE LANE. 187

dashed at them and kissed them both, laughing and crying, and repeating.

“I did it! I did it! I told old Hugh I would if he'd only mind me! And you thought he liked me, and was badly treated; and so you got acquainted with him. Oh! you panther princess, you!" She went so crazy that she made them both laugh, and brought them down a little from their lofty romance, which was good for them.

"You'll miss the train, " she said.

"I shall not go till night," Mr. Wellesley declared; and he would not, in spite of Cora’s attempt at expostulation, when May vowed that the business was of the utmost importance. Then May danced about them again, and laughed and cried more; and aunt Agatha and Wentworth came in, and I doubt if a happier set of people were gathered together in this old world that has such a trick of sometimes turning into heaven when we least expect it. Thanks be to a merciful Father, who helps us and guides us, in spite of our blind struggles and erring wills—so I leave them.

ΤHΕ APPLE-TREE IN THE LANE.

BY MRS. S. P. MESERVE HAYES. It stood close by where, on leathern-hinge, The gate swung back from the grassy lane; Where the cows come home when the dusky eve Its mantle threw over hill and plain. Its branches, knotty and gnarled by time, Waved to and fro in the idle breeze, When the Spring days brought a blushing crown Of blossoms bright to the apple-trees.

Its shadow fell o'er the crystal stream, That all the long, bright Summer days, Like a silver thread, 'mid the waving grass, Reflected back the golden rays Of the noonday sun, that madly strove To drink the fount of the brooklet dry; But the rain-clouds showered tear-drops down, And the glad brook laughed as it glided by.

Never were apples half so sweet Golden russet, striped with redAs those that fell on the yielding turf, As we shook the branches overhead. A trysting-place for youthful friends Was the apple-tree, in the days of yore ; And oft we've sat beneath its shade, And talked bright dreams of the future o'er.

And when the warm October sun, Shone on the maple's scarlet robe, We gathered apples smooth and fair, And round as our own mystic globe. The stately hemlock crowns the hill, And dark pines rise above the plain; But one we prize far more than they The apple-tree in the pasture-lane.

Long years have passed, and cows no more Come home at night through the grassy lane, Where the gate swung back on leathern-hinge, I stand and gaze on the far-off plain. No more we list to the music low Of the crystal stream as it ripples on; And the apple-tree in the pasture-lane, Is but a dream of the days by-gone.

MEMORY'S HALL.

BY HENRY C. PARK.

On! a strange old castle is Memory's Hall, With its towers and turrets sublime; For its portals are guarded by spectres tall The spectres of years, that come at the call Of echoes that live in that clime.

It stands in the country of " Long Ago," By the side of the river of Time, Whose waters surge on with an endless flow, And sing a song as they gently go, As soft as the vesper chime.

To the door of this castle we often go, For we've buried our treasures there; There are brows of beauty, and hands of snow, And forms we have clasped long years ago, And tresses of golden hair

There's a lute unswept, and a harp unstrung, And a part of a dying prayer; And fragments of song no longer sung, For the lips that warbled them now are dumb, And slumber in silence there.

Smiles that have faded, and joys now dead, And faces we once thought fair, And wreaths that encircled some loved one's head, Words of tenderness once been said, And garments that she used to wear.

Echoes of voices that used to call, Fall on the tremulous air; And pictures dim on its sombered walls, Scenes from the shadowy past recall, While we stand enchanted there.

The present departs, and the past returns, As we tread o'er its dusty floor; And our hearts, overflowing with sadness, burn, And our souls within us with wildness yearn, For the things we loved of yore

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/188


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. We will fix you up.

. [Aside] Uy! She is going to put me in a stew. I knew she must be the cook. [Aloud] Have you finished?

. Yes, man, yes. Do you feel hungry?

. A little. I didn't dine on a roast calf.

. Sit down then and eat. I am not a niggard. You can fill yourself at your pleasure. Cram, man, cram!… But don't give yourself a pain.

Tony. [Aside] Uy! What good care he takes of me!

. Drink, man, drink. Laugh! Laugh! I am not a surly fellow, I am not one of the sort to eat people up, as before you seemed to think.

. No, no…

. When I am hungry, I am in bad humor; but when I have had my dinner, I am the jolliest chap in the world. Drink, man, drink.

. [Aside] Yes. He wants to get me drunk, so as to throw me in the pot without my knowing it. [Aloud] No, no, thank you. [Aside] Uy! This wine! It goes straight to the head. They are going to cook me without my knowing it! [Aloud] Though perhaps I am not the one to ask, what do you intend to do with me? Stuff me with potatoes?

. Ha? Potatoes? The feed of the poor! We are going to stuff you with truffles.

. [Aside] Like a turkey. [Aloud] Aren't you afraid you will have indigestion?

. I have never had indigestion.

. [Aside] If I can give it to him, then…

. [Singing]


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 to the end of the alphabet, is a matter o' taste. I rayther think it isn't."

"Well," said Sam, "good bye."

"Tar, tar, Sammy," replied his father.

"I've only got to say this here," said Sam, stopping short, "that if I was the properiator o' the Markis o' Granby, and that 'ere Stiggins came and made toast in my bar, I'd—"

"What?" interposed Mr. Weller, with great anxiety. "What?"

"—Pison his rum and water," said Sam.

"No!" said Mr. Weller, shaking his son eagerly by the hand, "would you raly, Sammy; would you, though?"

"I would," said Sam. "I wouldn't be too hard upon him at first. I'd drop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on; and if I found he was insensible to kindness, I'd try the other persvasion."

The elder Mr. Weller bestowed a look of deep, unspeakable admiration on his son: and, having once more grasped his hand, walked slowly away, revolving in his mind the numerous reflections to which his advice had given rise.

Sam looked after him, until he turned a corner of the road: and then set forward on his walk to London. He meditated, at first, on the probable consequences of his own advice, and the likelihood and unlikelihood of his father's adopting it. He dismissed the subject from his mind, however, with the consolatory reflection that time alone would show; and this is the reflection we would impress upon the reader.


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310 uninstructed villagers, who, whatever their other virtues, are not remarkable for habits of accuracy and precision, they would be frequently apt to include under this (assumed) age, both adults above and children below it, unless he had stimulated and aided their attention by requiring separate and distinct statements of the number of persons above 14 and below 5.” In order, therefore, to ensure the strict accuracy of the information relative to the number of the juvenile population or children between 14 and 5 years of age, rigid inquiries, for the sake of comparison and correction, were instituted into the numbers of the infant and adult population, or persons below 5 and above 14. In like manner, for similar or other reasons, as well as in order to be enabled to present a full and finished portraiture of the complex subject of education generally, as respects the matter and manner of instruction, the lingual media of its communication, the qualifications and circumstances of the teachers, the facilities and advantages enjoyed by different classes and neighbourhoods, Mr. Adam resolved to inquire into and report on all manner of details, calculated in any way, directly or indirectly, to illumine or illustrate his leading design. He also wisely judged that the particularity and minuteness of the points of research constituted “an important guard against mistake and error on the part of the agents employed, since the multiplication of details is the multiplication of the means of comparison, and thereby of the means of checking oversight, culpable neglect, or intentional misrepresentation.”

With sound and sober views like these, the first object to which he directed his attention was the preparation of the forms in which he desired to embody the information to be collected; and in passing from district to district he continued to improve these, according as experience, reflection, or local circumstances suggested. His own account of the language and contents of these forms is as follows:—

“The language in which the forms were prepared was Bengali, Hindi, or Urdu, and the character respectively Bengali, Nagari, or Persian, determined in part by the prevailing language and character of the district where they were to be used, and in part by the attainments of the class of persons in each district who offered their services to me. In the Bengal districts Bengali was chiefly used, but in the city of Moorshedabad I found it necessary to have recourse partially to the Urdu language and Persian character. In South Behar I deemed it advisable to employ the Hindi language and the Nagari character, and in Tirhoot the Urdu language and the Persian character. I believe that in the latter districts I should have experienced fewer difficulties, if I had adopted both the Persian language and character; for those of my agents who were acquainted with Hindi only, although very steady and industrious, were peculiarly obtuse and unintelligent, and those who understood Persian were continually diverging into the use of that language in their


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 pine-apple rum and water, wholly unconscious of what was going on.

The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs. Weller and the reverend Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principally descanted on, were the virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness of his flock, and the high crimes and misdemeanours of everybody beside; dissertations which the elder Mr. Weller occasionally interrupted by half-suppressed references to a gentleman of the name of Walker, and other running commentaries of the same kind.

At length Mr. Stiggins, with several most indubitable symptoms of having quite as much pine-apple rum and water about him, as he could comfortably accommodate, took his hat, and his leave: and Sam was, immediately afterwards, shown to bed by his father. The respectable old gentleman wrung his hand fervently, and seemed disposed to address some observation to his son; but on Mrs. Weller advancing towards him, he appeared to relinquish that intention, and abruptly bade him good night.

Sam was up betimes next day, and having partaken of a hasty breakfast, prepared to return to London. He had scarcely set foot without the house, when his father stood before him.

"Goin', Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller.

"Off at once," replied Sam.

"I vish you could muffle that 'ere Stiggins, and take him with you," said Mr. Weller.

"I am ashamed on you!" said Sam, reproachfully; "what do you let him show his red nose in the Markis o' Granby at all, for?"

Mr. Weller the elder fixed on his son an earnest look, Flores and replied, Cause I'm a married man, Samivel, cause Jame I'm a married man. Wen you're a married man, Samivel, you'll understand a good many things as you don't understand now; but vether it's worth while goin' through so much, to learn so little, as the charity-boy said ven he got


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. What a sweet voice!

. Do you think so? Really?

. [Aside] I had better flatter him.

.

. [Aside] I think it has gone to his head. If he should get drunk, and I could escape… [Aloud] I should say you were in a jolly humor. At first I didn't think so…

. Before eating I am always ill-natured.

. Drink! Drink!

. And you, too.

. [Aside] Ah! I think I'll be under the table first…

.

. Jolly song, isn't it?

. It seems to me that you are the one who is jolly. That's the way I like you.

. [Aside] He likes me with wine.

. Come! Come! Tell me something funny, fool.

. Is this any time to be funny? I had much rather


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 羅之象儀度未参異國奚晋接於珠 槃玉敦之交於是地球說略應酬寶 笈两書復同時備出焉溯各書之成 也絡繹萬言勤劬八載一官一集一 字一珠中土得之而風俗於焉可通 西人得之而日雲為之瞻就且也典墳 邱索遠可探古訓之竒文登得豬

title: Page:華英字典集成.pdf/19


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 plank all day. That 'ud shake the nonsense out of 'em, if anythin' vould."

Mr. Weller having delivered this gentle recipe with strong emphasis, eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the eye, emptied his at a draught, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, with native dignity.

He was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was heard in the passage.

"Here's your dear relation, Sammy," said Mr. Weller; and Mrs. W. hurried into the room.

"Oh, you've come back, have you!" said Mrs. Weller.

"Yes my dear," replied Mr. Weller, filling a fresh pipe.

"Has Mr. Stiggins been back?" said Mrs. Weller.

"No, my dear, he hasn't," replied Mr. Weller, lighting the pipe by the ingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, between the tongs, a red-hot coal from the adjacent fire; "and what's more, my dear, I shall manage to surwive it, if he don't come back at all."

"Ugh, you wretch!" said Mrs. Weller.

"Thank'ee, my love," said Mr. Weller.

"Come, come, father," said Sam, "none o' these little lovins afore strangers. Here's the reverend gen'lm'n a comin' in now."

At this announcement, Mrs. Weller hastily wiped off the tears which she had just begun to force on; and Mr. W. drew his chair sullenly into the chimney corner.

Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on, to take another glass of the hot pine-apple rum and water, and a second, and a third, and then to refresh himself with a slight supper, previous to beginning again. He sat on the same side as Mr. Weller senior; and every time he could contrive to do so, unseen by his wife, that gentleman indicated to his son the hidden emotions of his bosom, by shaking his fist over the deputy shepherd's head: a process which afforded his son the most unmingled delight and satisfaction, the more especially as Mr. Stiggins went on, quietly drinking the hot


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 都近不遺殊方之异語珍同珠玉懸 知不脛而馳貢厥球琳定當有目共 賞㒒足跡無多腹笥亦儉承流罔 助望洋徒驚以蠡測海究莫悉其 淵深撮壤崇山要𥘡敘其崖略云尔

光緒丁亥夏五順德胡福英謹序并書

title: Page:華英字典集成.pdf/18


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 "For another tea-drinkin', perhaps," said Sam.

"Not a bit on it," replied the father; "for the shepherd's water-rate, Sammy."

"The shepherd's water-rate!" said Sam.

"Ay," replied Mr. Weller, "there was three quarters owin', and the shepherd hadn't paid a farden, not he—perhaps it might be on account that the water warn't o' much use to him, for it's wery little o' that tap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a trick worth a good half dozen of that, he does. Hows'ever, it warn't paid, and so they cuts the water off. Down goes the shepherd to chapel, gives out as he's a persecuted saint, and says he hopes the heart of the turncock as cut the water off, 'll be softened, and turned in the right vay: but he rayther thinks he's booked for somethin' uncomfortable. Upon this, the women calls a meetin', sings a hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair, wolunteers a collection next Sunday, and hands it all over to the shepherd. And if he ain't got enough out on 'em, Sammy, to make him free of the water company for life," said Mr. Weller, in conclusion, "I'm one Dutchman, and you're another, and that's all about it."

Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and then resumed:

"The worst o' these here shepherds is, my boy, that they reg'larly turns the heads of all the young ladies, about here. Lord bless their little hearts, they thinks it's all right, and don't know no better; but they're the wictims o' gammon, Samivel, they're the wictims o' gammon."

"I s'pose they are," said Sam.

"Nothin' else," said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely; "and wot aggrawates me, Samivel, is to see 'em a wastin' all their time and labour in making clothes for copper-coloured people as don't want 'em, and taking no notice of fleshcoloured Christians as do. If I'd my vay, Samivel, I'd just stick some o' these here lazy shepherds behind a heavy wheelbarrow, and run 'em up and down a fourteen-inch-wide


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 Sam nodded an expressive assent.

"Red-nosed chap?" inquired Mr. Weller.

Sam nodded again.

"Amiable man that 'ere, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, smoking violently.

"Seems so," observed Sam.

"Good hand at accounts," said Mr. Weller.

"Is he?" said Sam.

"Borrows eighteenpence on Monday, and comes on Tuesday for a shillin' to make it up half a crown; calls again on Vensday for another half crown to make it five shillin's; and goes on, doubling, till he gets it up to a five pund note in no time, like them sums in the 'rithmetic book 'bout the nails in the horse's shoes, Sammy."

Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem alluded to by his parent.

"So you vouldn't subscribe to the flannel veskits?" said Sam, after another interval of smoking.

"Cert'nly not," replied Mr. Weller; "what's the good o' flannel veskits to the young niggers abroad? But I'll tell you what it is, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending across the fire-place; "I'd come down wery handsome towards strait veskits for some people at home."

As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position, and winked at his first-born, in a profound manner.

"It cert'nly seems a queer start to send out pocket ankerchers to people as don't know the use on 'em," observed Sam.

"They're alvays a doin' some gammon of that sort, Sammy," replied his father. "T'other Sunday I wos walkin' up the road, wen who should I see, a standin' at a chapel-door, with a blue soup-plate in her hand, but your mother-in-law! I werily believe there was change for a couple o' suv'rins in it, then, Sammy, all in ha'pence; and as the people come out, they rattled the pennies in it, till you'd ha' thought that no mortal plate as ever was baked, could ha' stood the wear and tear. What d'ye think it was all for?"


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 cry. Ah! What can have happened to my master? No doubt the same as to me. Poor Prince! Poor Prince!

. Don't cry. No!

. [Aside] Poor me! Ah! An idea!… [Aloud] ''Ay! Ay!''

. What's the matter with you?

. I am poisoned! Ah!… I am poisoned! This wine is poisoned! Something is biting me inside like a dog… Ah! Mad dog! Mad dog!… Bark! He bites… I am poisoned!

. You are drunk.

. You can't eat me now; I would kill you. Poison… Oh! Oh!

. Indigestion… Poor fellow! I have never had indigestion.

Ah!…

. He has fallen asleep… I am saved! The Ogress seems to be a good woman, and she will help me escape. How he snores!… Which way can I get out?… I had better take some provisions first… Aha! Aha! This ought to be enough to last me for the journey…

. Where are you going?

. Oh!… She has surprised me. He has gone to sleep, and so as not to disturb him, I thought perhaps I'd better eat outside…

. Gone to sleep? Yes. There you are! One day this way and another day that… Pretty soon he will wake in a humor to eat us all up.

. He will, will he? But before he wakes…

. I will see if I can get him to bed. Hello! Come on up-stairs…


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 "Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were—what did he say the infant negroes were?" said Mrs. Weller.

"Little humbugs," replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected.

"Said the infant negroes were little humbugs," repeated Mrs. Weller. And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of the old gentleman.

A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might have been disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got very weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to go, Mr. Stiggins suddenly recollected that he had a most pressing appointment with the shepherd, and took himself off accordingly.

The tea-things had been scarcely put away, and the hearth swept up, when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller senior at the door; his legs deposited him in the bar; and his eyes showed him his son.

"What, Sammy!" exclaimed the father.

"What, old Nobs!" ejaculated the son. And they shook hands heartily.

"Werry glad to see you, Sammy," said the elder Mr. Weller, "though how you've managed to get over your mother-in-law, is a mystery to me. I only vish you'd write me out the receipt, that's all."

"Hush!" said Sam, "she's at home, old feller."

"She ain't vithin hearin'," replied Mr. Weller; "she always goes and blows up, down stairs, for a couple of hours arter not tea; so we'll just give ourselves a damp, Sammy."

Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of spirits and water, and produced a couple of pipes. The father and son sitting down opposite each other: Sam on one side of the fire, in the high-backed chair, and Mr. Weller senior on the other, in an easy ditto: they proceeded to enjoy themselves with all due gravity.

"Anybody been here, Sammy?" asked Mr. Weller senior, drily, after a long silence.


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 "And with too good reason," added Mrs. Weller, gravely.

Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned heavily.

"He is a dreadful reprobate," said Mrs. Weller.

"A man of wrath!" exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. He took a large semi-circular bite out of the toast, and groaned again.

Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the reverend Mr. Stiggins something to groan for, but he repressed his inclination, and merely asked, "What's the old 'un up to, now?"

"Up to, indeed!" said Mrs. Weller. "Oh, he has a hard heart. Night after night does this excellent man—don't frown, Mr. Stiggins: I will say you are an excellent man—come and sit here, for hours together, and it has not the least effect upon him."

"Well, that is odd," said Sam; "it 'ud have a wery considerable effect upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that."

"The fact is, my young friend," said Mr. Stiggins, solemnly, "he has an obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could have resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and withstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for providing the infant negroes in the West Indies with flannel waistcoats and moral pocket handkerchiefs?"

"What's a moral pocket ankercher?" said Sam; "I never see one o' them articles o' furniter."

"Those which combine amusement with instruction, my young friend," replied Mr. Stiggins: "blending select tales with wood-cuts."

"Oh, I know," said Sam; "them as hangs up in the linendrapers' shops, with beggars' petitions and all that 'ere upon 'em?"

Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.

"And he wouldn't be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn't he?" said Sam.


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 her eyes to Sam's face, with no very gratified expression of countenance.

"I rayther think he is," said the imperturbable Sam; "and I hope this here reverend gen'lm'n 'll excuse me saying that I wish I was the Weller as owns you, mother-in-law."

This was a double-barrelled compliment. It implied that Mrs. Weller was a most agreeable female, and also that Mr. Stiggins had a clerical appearance. It made a visible impression at once; and Sam followed up his advantage by kissing his mother-in-law.

"Get along with you!" said Mrs. Weller, pushing him away.

"For shame, young man!" said the gentleman with the red nose.

"No offence, sir, no offence," replied Sam; "you're wery right, though; it ain't the right sort o' thing, wen mothersin-law is young and good looking, is it, sir?"

"It's all vanity," said Mr. Stiggins.

"Ah, so it is," said Mrs. Weller, setting her cap to rights.

Sam thought it was, too, but he held his peace.

The deputy shepherd seemed by no means best pleased with Sam's arrival; and when the first effervescence of the compliment had subsided, even Mrs. Weller looked as if she could have spared him without the smallest inconvenience. However, there he was; and as he couldn't be decently turned out, they all three sat down to tea.

"And how's father?" said Sam.

At this inquiry, Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up her eyes, as if the subject were too painful to be alluded to.

Mr. Stiggins groaned.

"What's the matter with that 'ere gen'lm'n?" inquired Sam.

"He's shocked at the way your father goes on in," replied Mrs. Weller.

"Oh, he is, is he?" said Sam.


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 engaged in converting a large slice of bread into the same agreeable edible, through the instrumentality of a long brass toasting-fork. Beside him stood a glass of reeking hot pineapple rum and water, with a slice of lemon in it; and every time the red-nosed man stopped to bring the round of toast to his eye, with the view of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed a drop or two of the hot pine-apple rum and water, and smiled upon the rather stout lady, as she blew the fire.

Sam was so lost in the contemplation of this comfortable scene, that he suffered the first inquiry of the rather stout lady to pass unheeded. It was not until it had been twice repeated, each time in a shriller tone, that he became conscious of the impropriety of his behaviour.

"Governor in?" inquired Sam, in reply to the question.

"No, he isn't," replied Mrs. Weller; for the rather stout lady was no other than the quondam relict and sole executrix of the dead-and-gone Mr. Clarke; "No, he isn't, and I don't expect him, either."

"I suppose he's a drivin' up to-day?" said Sam.

"He may be, or he may not," replied Mrs. Weller, buttering the round of toast which the red-nosed man had just finished. "I don't know, and, what's more, I don't care. Ask a blessin', Mr. Stiggins."

The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantly commenced on the toast with fierce voracity.

The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sam, at first sight, to more than half suspect that he was the deputy shepherd of whom his estimable parent had spoken. The moment he saw him eat, all doubt on the subject was removed, and he perceived at once that if he purposed to take up his temporary quarters where he was, he must make his footing good without delay. He therefore commenced proceedings by putting his arm over the half-door of the bar, coolly unbolting it, and leisurely walking in.

"Mother-in-law," said Sam, "how are you?"

"Why, I do believe he is a Weller!" said Mrs. W., raising


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 "Wery, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "if ever I wanted anythin' o' my father, I always asked for it in a wery 'spectful and obligin' manner. If he didn't give it me, I took it, for fear I should be led to do anythin' wrong, through not havin' it. I saved him a world o' trouble in this vay, sir."

"That's not precisely what I meant, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his head, with a slight smile.

"All good feelin', sir—the wery best intentions, as the gen'lm'n said ven he run away from his wife 'cos she seemed unhappy with him," replied Mr. Weller.

"You may go, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller; and having made his best bow, and put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top of the Arundel coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.

The Marquis of Granby in Mrs. Weller's time was quite a model of a road-side public-house of the better class—just large enough to be convenient, and small enough to be snug. On the opposite side of the road was a large sign-board on a high post, representing the head and shoulders of a gentleman with an apoplectic countenance, in a red coat with deep blue facings, and a touch of the same blue over his three-cornered hat, for a sky. Over that again were a pair of flags; beneath the last button of his coat were a couple of cannon; and the whole formed an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of Granby of glorious memory.

The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium plants, and a well-dusted row of spirit phials. The open shutters bore a variety of golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and neat wines; and the choice group of countrymen and hostlers lounging about the stable-door and horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of the excellent quality of the ale and spirits which were sold within. Sam Weller paused, when he dismounted from the coach, to note all these little indications of a thriving business, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and having done so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything he had observed.


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 "And of them Dodson and Foggs, as does these sort o' things on spec," continued Mr. Weller, "as well as for the other kind and gen'rous people o' the same purfession, as sets people by the ears, free gratis for nothin', and sets their clerks to work to find out little disputes among their neighbours and acquaintances as vants settlin' by means o' law-suits—all I can say o' them is, that I vish they had the revard I'd give 'em."

"Ah, I wish they had the reward that every kind and generous heart would be inclined to bestow upon them!" said the gratified Mrs. Bardell.

"Amen to that," replied Sam, "and a fat and happy livin' they'd get out of it! Wish you good night, ladies."

To the great relief of Mrs. Sanders, Sam was allowed to depart without any reference, on the part of the hostess, to the pettitoes and toasted cheese: to which the ladies, with such juvenile assistance as Master Bardell could afford, soon afterwards rendered the amplest justice—indeed they wholly vanished before their strenuous exertions.

Mr. Weller went his way back to the George and Vulture, and faithfully recounted to his master, such indications of the sharp practice of Dodson and Fogg, as he had contrived to pick up in his visit to Mrs. Bardell's. An interview with Mr. Perker, next day, more than confirmed Mr. Weller's statement; and Mr. Pickwick was fain to prepare for his Christmas visit to Dingley Dell, with the pleasant anticipation that some two or three months afterwards, an action brought against him for damages sustained by reason of a breach of promise of marriage, would be publicly tried in the Court of Common Pleas: the plaintiff having all the advantages derivable, not only from the force of circumstances, but from the sharp practice of Dodson and Fogg to boot.


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 volunteered to humour him, so she took a slight sip out of her glass. Then, Sam said it must go all round, so they all took a slight sip. Then, little Mrs. Cluppins proposed as a toast, "Success to Bardell agin Pickwick;" and then the ladies emptied their glasses in honour of the sentiment, and got very talkative directly.

"I suppose you've heard what's going forward, Mr. Weller?" said Mrs. Bardell.

"I've heerd somethin' on it," replied Sam.

"It's a terrible thing to be dragged before the public, in that way, Mr. Weller," said Mrs. Bardell; "but I see now, that it's the only thing I ought to do, and my lawyers, Mr. Dodson and Fogg, tell me, that with the evidence as we shall call, we must succeed. I don't know what I should do, Mr. Weller, if I didn't."

The mere idea of Mrs. Bardell's failing in her action, affected Mrs. Sanders so deeply, that she was under the necessity of re-filling and re-emptying her glass immediately; feeling, as she said afterwards, that if she hadn't had the presence of mind to do so, she must have dropped.

"Ven is it expected to come on?" inquired Sam.

"Either in February or March," replied Mrs. Bardell.

"What a number of witnesses there'll be, won't there?" said Mrs. Cluppins.

"Ah, won't there!" replied Mrs. Sanders.

"And won't Mr. Dodson and Fogg be wild if the plaintiff shouldn't get it?" added Mrs. Cluppins, "when they do it all on speculation!"

"Ah! won't they!" said Mrs. Sanders.

"But the plaintiff must get it," resumed Mrs. Cluppins.

"I hope so," said Mrs. Bardell.

"Oh, there can't be any doubt about it," rejoined Mrs. Sanders.

"Vell,' said Sam, rising and setting down his glass, "All I can say is, that I wish you may get it.

"Thank'ee, Mr. Weller," said Mrs. Bardell fervently.


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 comes in, out of charity, to sit with her, and make her comfortable," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, glancing at the tin saucepan and the Dutch oven, "it's shocking!"

"Barbareous," said Mrs. Sanders.

"And your master, young man! A gentleman with money, as could never feel the expense of a wife, no more than nothing," continued Mrs. Cluppins, with great volubility; why there ain't the faintest shade of an excuse for his behaviour! Why don't he marry her?"

"Ah," said Sam, "to be sure; that's the question."

"Question, indeed," retorted Mrs. Cluppins; "she'd question him, if she'd my spirit. Hows'ever, there is law for us women, mis'rable creeturs as they'd make us, if they could; and that your master will find out, young man, to his cost, afore he's six months older."

At this consolatory reflection, Mrs. Cluppins bridled up, and smiled at Mrs. Sanders, who smiled back again.

"The action's going on, and no mistake," thought Sam, as Mrs. Bardell re-entered with the receipt.

"Here's the receipt, Mr. Weller," said Mrs. Bardell," and here's the change, and I hope you'll take a little drop of something to keep the cold out, if it's only for old acquaintance' sake, Mr. Weller."

Sam saw the advantage he should gain, and at once acquiesced; whereupon Mrs. Bardell produced, from a small closet, a black bottle and a wine glass; and so great was her abstraction, in her deep mental affliction, that, after filling Mr. Weller's glass, she brought out three more wine glasses, and filled them too.

"Lauk, Mrs. Bardell," said Mrs. Cluppins, "see what you've been and done!"

"Well, that is a good one!" ejaculated Mrs. Sanders.

"Ah, my poor head!" said Mrs. Bardell, with a faint smile.

Sam understood all this, of course, so he said at once, that he never could drink before supper, unless a lady drank with him. A great deal of laughing ensued, and Mrs. Sanders


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 town, and is jest going away agin, it can't be helped, you see."

"Of course, the young man can't help the faults of his master," said Mrs. Cluppins, much struck by Mr. Weller's appearance and conversation.

"Certainly not," chimed in Mrs. Sanders, who, from certain wistful glances at the little tin saucepan, seemed to be engaged in a mental calculation of the probable extent of the pettitoes, in the event of Sam's being asked to stop supper.

"So all I've come about, is jest this here," said Sam, disregarding the interruption; "First, to give my governor's notice—there it is. Secondly, to pay the rent—here it is. Thirdly, to say as all his things is to be put together, and give to anybody as we sends for 'em. Fourthly, that you may let the place as soon as you like—and that's all."

"Whatever has happened," said Mrs. Bardell, "I always have said, and always will say, that in every respect but one, Mr. Pickwick has always behaved himself like a perfect gentleman. His money always was as good as the bank: always.'

As Mrs. Bardell said this, she applied her handkerchief to her eyes, and went out of the room to get the receipt.

Sam well knew that he had only to remain quiet, and the women were sure to talk; so he looked alternately at the tin saucepan, the toasted cheese, the wall, and the ceiling, in profound silence.

"Poor dear!" said Mrs. Cluppins.

"Ah, poor thing!" replied Mrs. Sanders.

Sam said nothing. He saw they were coming to the subject.

"I rally cannot contain myself," said Mrs. Cluppins, "when I think of such perjury. I don't wish to say anything to make you uncomfortable, young man, but your master's an old brute, and I wish I had him here to tell him so."

"I wish you had," said Sam.

"To see how dreadful she takes on, going moping about, and taking no pleasure in nothing, except when her friends


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 Mrs. Cluppins was a little brisk, busy-looking woman; Mrs. Sanders was a big, fat, heavy-faced personage; and the two were the company.

Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated; and as none of the three exactly knew whether, under existing circumstances, any communication, otherwise than through Dodson and Fogg, ought to be held with Mr. Pickwick's servant, they were all rather taken by surprise. In this state of indecision, obviously the first thing to be done, was to thump the boy for finding Mr. Weller at the door. So his mother thumped him, and he cried melodiously.

"Hold your noise—do—you naughty creetur!" said Mrs. Bardell.

"Yes; don't worrit your poor mother," said Mrs. Sanders.

"She's quite enough to worrit her, as it is, without you, Tommy," said Mrs. Cluppins, with sympathising resignation.

"Ah! worse luck, poor lamb!" said Mrs. Sanders.

At all which moral reflections, Master Bardell howled the louder.

"Now, what shall I do?" said Mrs. Bardell to Mrs. Cluppins.

"I think you ought to see him," replied Mrs. Cluppins. "But on no account without a witness."

"I think two witnesses would be more lawful," said Mrs. Sanders, who, like the other friend, was bursting with curiosity.

"Perhaps he'd better come in here," said Mrs. Bardell.

"To be sure," replied Mrs. Cluppins, eagerly catching at the idea; "Walk in, young man; and shut the street door first, please.

Mr. Weller immediately took the hint; and presenting himself in the parlour, explained his business to Mrs. Bardell thus:

"Werry sorry to 'casion any personal inconwenience, ma'am, as the house-breaker said to the old lady when he put her on the fire; but as me and my governor's only jest come to


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 Mr. Pickwick drew the silk handkerchief once more over his head, and composed himself for a nap. Mr. Weller promptly walked forth, to execute his commission.

It was nearly nine o'clock when he reached Goswell Street. A couple of candles were burning in the little front parlour. and a couple of caps were reflected on the window-blind. Mrs. Bardell had got company.

Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty long interval—occupied by the party without, in whistling a tune, and by the party within, in persuading a refractory flat candle to allow itself to be lighted—a pair of small boots pattered over the floor-cloth, and Master Bardell presented himself.

"Well, young townskip," said Sam, "how's mother?"

"She's pretty well," replied Master Bardell, "so am I."

"Well, that's a mercy," said Sam; "tell her I want to speak to her, will you, my hinfant fernomenon?"

Master Bardell, thus adjured, placed the refractory flat candle on the bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlour with his message.

The two caps, reflected on the window-blind, were the respective head-dresses of a couple of Mrs. Bardell's most particular acquaintance, who had just stepped in, to have a quiet cup of tea, and a little warm supper of a couple of sets of pettitoes and some toasted cheese. The cheese was simmering and browning away, most delightfully, in a little Dutch oven before the fire; the pettitoes were getting on deliciously in a little tin saucepan on the hob; and Mrs. Bardell and her two friends were getting or very well, also, in a little quiet conversation about and concerning all their particular friends and acquaintance; when Master Bardell came back from answering the door, and delivered the message intrusted to him by Mr. Samuel Weller.

"Mr. Pickwick's servant!" said Mrs. Bardell, turning pale.

"Bless my soul!" said Mrs. Cluppins.

"Well, I raly would not ha' believed it, unless I had ha' happened to ha' been here!" said Mrs. Sanders.


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 "Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Sir," said Mr. Weller.

"I have just been thinking, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "that having left a good many things at Mrs. Bardell's, in Goswell Street, I ought to arrange for taking them away, before I leave town again."

"Wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.

"I could send them to Mr. Tupman's, for the present, Sam," continued Mr. Pickwick, "but before we take them away, it is necessary that they should be looked up, and put together. I wish you would step up to Goswell Street, Sam, and arrange about it."

"At once, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller.

"At once," replied Mr. Pickwick. "And stay, Sam," added Mr. Pickwick, pulling out his purse, "There is some rent to pay. The quarter is not due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and have done with it. A month's notice terminates my tenancy. Here it is, written out. Give it, and tell Mrs. Bardell she may put a bill up, as soon as she likes."

"Wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "anythin' more, sir?"

"Nothing more, Sam."

Mr. Weller stepped slowly to the door, as if he expected something more; slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had slowly closed it within a couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick called out,

"Sam."

"Sir," said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closing the door behind him.

"I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavouring to ascertain how Mrs. Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and whether it is really probable that this vile and groundless action is to be carried to extremity. I say I do not object to your doing this, if you wish it, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.

Sam gave a short nod of intelligence, and left the room.


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T was now the turn of Lady Ōmi’s eccentricities to become the sole topic of conversation at Court. ‘All this is very puzzling,’ said Genji. ‘Her father gave orders that she was to be kept in close confinement; how comes it, then, that every one seems to know so much about her? One hears nothing but stories of her ridiculous behaviour. So far from keeping the poor half-witted creature out of harm’s way he seems to be positively making an exhibition of her. Here again I think I see the consequences of his obstinate belief in the impeccability of his own family. He sent for her without making the slightest enquiry, convinced that since his blood ran in her veins she must necessarily be beyond reproach. Finding her an exception to this rule he has taken his revenge by deliberately exposing her to derision. However, I can hardly believe that after all the trouble he has taken, it can really give him much satisfaction that the mere mention of her name should evoke peals of laughter….’

The fate of Ōmi seemed, incidently, to afford some justification for Genji’s reluctance to part with Tamakatsura, a fact which she herself recognized. It was by no means safe to assume that Tō no Chūjō would treat a second long-lost daughter any better than the first. The old nurse Ukon, who daily collected for her mistress’s benefit some fresh anecdote of Ōmi’s discomfiture, vigorously supported the view that Tō no Chūjō was not a father to be lightly

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292 adopted. ‘True,’ thought Tamakatsura, ‘Genji’s attitude towards me is not quite such as I could wish. But I am bound to confess that hitherto he has never tried to go further than I intend he should, and in practical ways no one could possibly be more kind and considerate.’ Thus gratitude was slowly replaced by friendship and even by a certain semblance of intimacy.

Autumn had now come, and with it a bitterly cold wind—the ‘first wind’ whose chill breath ‘only a lover’s cloak can nullify.’ He made great efforts to keep away from the Western Wing, but all to no purpose; and soon, on the pretext of music-lessons or what not, he was spending the greater part of every day at Tamakatsura’s side.

One evening when the moon was some five or six days old he came suddenly to her room. The weather was chilly and overcast, and the wind rustled with a melancholy note through the reeds outside the window. She sat with her head resting against her zithern. To-night too, as on so many previous occasions, he would make his timorous advances, and at the end of it all be just where he started. So Genji grumbled to himself, and continued to behave in a somewhat plaintive and peevish manner during his whole visit. It was however already very late when the fear of giving offence in other quarters drove him from the room. Just as he was leaving he noticed that the flares outside her window were burning very low, and sending for one of his men, he had them kindled anew; but this time at a little distance from the house, under a strangely leaning spindle-tree which spread its branches in the form of a broad canopy, near to the banks of a deep, chilly stream. The thin flares of split pine-wood were placed at wide intervals, casting pale shadows that flickered remotely upon the walls of the unlighted room where she and Genji sat. He caught a glimpse of her hand, showing frail and ghostly

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Rh against the dark background of her hair. Her face, suddenly illumined by the cold glare of the distant torches, wore an uneasy and distrustful air. He had risen to go, but still lingered. ‘You should tell your people never to let the flares go out,’ he said. ‘Even in summer, except when there is a moon, it is not wise to leave the garden unlighted. And in Autumn…. I shall feel very uneasy if you do not promise to remember about this. “Did but the torches flickering at your door burn brightly as the fire within my breast, you should not want for light!” ’ And he reminded her of the old song in which the lover asks: ‘How long, like the smouldering watch-fire at the gate, must my desire burn only with an inward flame?’

‘Would that, like the smoke of the watch-fires that mounts and vanishes at random in the empty sky, the smouldering flame of passion could burn itself away!’ So she recited, adding: ‘I do not know what has come over you. Please leave me at once or people will think….’ ‘As you wish,’ he answered, and was stepping into the courtyard, when he heard a sound of music in the wing occupied by the Lady from the Village of Falling Flowers. Some one seemed to be playing the flute to the accompaniment of a Chinese zithern. No doubt Yūgiri was giving a small party. The flute-player could be none other than Tō no Chūjō’s eldest son Kashiwagi; for who else at Court performed with such marvellous delicacy and finish? How pleasant would be the effect, thought Genji, if they would consent to come and give a serenade by the stream-side, in the subdued light of those flickering torches! ‘I long to join you,’ he wrote, ‘but, could you see the pale, watery shadows that the watch-flares are casting here in the garden of the western wing, you would know why I am slow to come….’ He sent this note to Yūgiri, and

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204 presently three figures appeared out of the darkness. ‘I should not have sent for you,’ he called to them, ‘had you not played “The Wind’s voice tells me….” It is a tune that I can never resist.’ So saying he brought out his own zithern. When he had played for a while, Yūgiri began to improvise on his flute in the Banshiki mode. Kashiwagi attempted to join in, but his thoughts were evidently employed elsewhere, for again and again he entered at the wrong beat. ‘Too late,’ cried Genji, and at last Kōbai was obliged to keep his brother in measure by humming the air in a low monotone like the chirping of a meditative grasshopper. Genji made them go through the piece twice, and then handed his zithern to Kashiwagi. It was some while since he had heard the boy play and he now observed with delight that his talent was not by any means confined to wind-instruments. ‘You could have given me no greater pleasure,’ he said, when the piece was over. ‘Your father is reckoned a fine performer on the zithern; but you have certainly more than overtaken him…. By the way, I should have cautioned you that there is some one seated just within who can probably hear all that is going on out in this portico. So to-night there had better not be too much drinking. Do not be offended, for I was really thinking more of myself than of you. Now that I am getting on in years I find wine far more dangerous than I used to. I am apt to say the most indiscreet things….’

Tamakatsura did, as a matter of fact, overhear every word of this, as indeed she was intended to, and was thankful that he at any rate saw the necessity of keeping himself in hand. The near presence of the two visitors could not fail to interest her extremely, if for no other reason than merely because they were, after all, though themselves

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Rh entirely unaware of the fact, so very closely related to her; and for long past she had surreptitiously collected all possible information concerning their characters and pursuits. Kashiwagi was, as to her distress she had frequently ascertained, very deeply in love with her. Again and again during the course of the evening, he was on the verge of collapsing altogether; but never was the state of agitation through which he was passing for a moment reflected in his playing.

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text: A Wreath of Cloud/Chapter 9

title: A Wreath of Cloud/Chapter 9


text:
Page:Memoirs of John Abernethy, F.R.S - with a view of his lectures, writings, and character (IA b28035719 0002).pdf/206

 found him about ten minutes before lecture in the museum, looking over his preparations for lecture—rather a dangerous time we should have said for consultation. “I am afraid, Sir,” said the pupil, “ that I have a polypus in my nose, and T want you to look at it.” No answer ; but when he had sorted his preparations, he said: “Eh? What!” The pupil repeated his request. “Then stand upon your head; don’t you see that all the light here comes from a skylight? How am I too look up your nose? Where do you live?” “ Bartholomew Close.” “What time do you get up?” “At eight.” «That can’t be then.” “ What, Sir?” “You cannot be at Bedford Row at nine.” “ Yes, Sir, IT will” “To-morrow, morning, then.” The pupil was punctual. Mr, Abernethy made a most careful examination of his nose, entered into the canses and nature of polypi, assured him that there was nothing of the sort, and exacted from him a promise that he would never look into his nose again, The gen- tleman, in his letter to me, adds: “ This

I have never done, and I am happy to say

�


text:
Page:Judeo-Arabic romanization table.pdf/1

 JUDEO-ARABIC

This table was approved in Feb., 2011, by the Library of Congress and the Committee for Cataloging: Asian and African Materials (CC:AAM) of the American Library Association.


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Page:Regal Rome, an Introduction to Roman History (1852, Newman, London, regalromeintrodu00newmuoft).djvu/8

iv they treated them witht the same respect as this religious mythology, and would have feared to damage patriotism by too irreverent a criticism. The moderns, when a keen zeal for classical study was renewed, were for a long time seduced by the tone of the ancient authorities, into a far more entire belief than that of the Augustan age. Perizonius, according to the Niebuhr, eminently took the lead towards a sounder view. But no commanding genius was needed for this: the matter is plain enough to diligent talent. Bayle and Beaufort, knowing nothing of Perizonius, followed in the same course, and a severe shock was given to undiscriminating faith.

Sir Walter Raleigh had shown how false were the military annals of Rome even in the second Punic war; but it was reserved for Niebuhr to demolish effectually all trust in the detailed accounts of Rome's martial successes. It is now clear that the historians thought it a patriotic duty to conceal defeats, or to invent victories which would wipe them out.

A right understanding of the Agrarian laws dates only from Heyne, who, in the first French Revolution published a tract in proof that these laws never touched private, but only public, land. In fact, this


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Page:Regal Rome, an Introduction to Roman History (1852, Newman, London, regalromeintrodu00newmuoft).djvu/9

Rh is so plain to Plutarch and Appian, that it is hard to understand how earlier critics deceived themselves. Although Niebuhr acknowledges himself indebted to Heyne on this subject (vol. ii. p. 133, trn.), yet from Niebuhr's language elsewhere, the opinion has gone abroad that he originated this view, and that it need the deep insight of a rare genius.

I will not conceal, that my strong difference from the conclusions of Niebuhr has been a great impulse to the publication of this small volume: but if I were writing in Germany and not in England, no apology would be needed for the avowal. Niebuhr's erudition and untiring ingenuity have given a vast impulse to inquiry: Roman history is better written, in consequence of his labours: but his successors are very far from tying themselves to his results.

Niebuhr often expresses much contempt for mere incredulous criticism and negative conclusions; and he probably would little value the compliment, that he has aided us to get rid of fable and false theory. Yet, wisely to disbeleive, is our first grand requisite, in dealing with materials of mixed worth. When this has been accomplished, a hypothesis to connect and complete the events which remain, may be ventured, and is often convincing. But while we hold


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Page:Judeo-Arabic romanization table.pdf/2

{|cellspacing=0
 * ו
 * w
 *  ואחד/wʼḥd/ “one”
 * w
 *  ואחד/wʼḥd/ “one”

 ארואח/ʼrwʼḥ/ “spirits”  נבווא/nbwwʼ/ “prophecy”  לוורא/l-wwrʼ/ “after, behind”
 * וו
 * ww
 *  כוואכב/kwwʼkb/ “stars”
 *  כוואכב/kwwʼkb/ “stars”
 * ז
 * z
 *  זוג׳תו/zwḡtw/ “his wife”
 * ח
 * ḥ
 *  חייאת/ḥyyʼt/ “life”
 * ḥ
 *  חייאת/ḥyyʼt/ “life”

 בחר/bḥr/ “sea”
 * ט
 * ṭ
 *  טול/ṭwl/ “length”
 *  טול/ṭwl/ “length”

 עטא/‘ṭʼ/ “he gave”  ביות/bywt/ “house”  ידי/ydy/ “my hand”  לייג׳יב/l-yyḡyb/ “that he may bring”  רג׳ליי/rḡlyy/ “my (two) feet”   ך, כ, ךּ,כּ  ד׳אלךּ/ḏʼlk/ “that”  כבז/kbz/ “bread”
 * ̇ט
 * ẓ
 *  ̇טהר /ẓhr/ “he appeared”
 * י
 * y
 *  יד/yd/ “hand”
 * y
 *  יד/yd/ “hand”
 * יי
 * yy
 *  אייאם/ʼyyʼm/ “days”
 *  אייאם/ʼyyʼm/ “days”
 * כ
 * כ
 * k
 *  כּאנת/kʼnt/ “she was"” [sic]
 * }1/31/2011


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Page:Judeo-Arabic romanization table.pdf/3

{|cellspacing=0
 * ל
 * l
 *  לייאלי/lyyʼly/ “nights”
 *  ם,מ
 * m
 *  מן/mn/ “from”
 *  ם,מ
 * m
 *  מן/mn/ “from”

 אסם/ʼsm/ “name”
 *  ן,נ
 * n
 *  נפס/nfs/ “soul”
 *  נפס/nfs/ “soul”

 בין/byn/ “between”
 * ס
 * s
 *  סמע/sm‘/ “he heard”
 *  סמע/sm‘/ “he heard”

 יסראיל/Ysrʼyl/ “Israel”   ף׳,פ׳
 * ע
 *  עביד/‘byd/ “servants”
 *  ף,פ
 *  עביד/‘byd/ “servants”
 *  ף,פ
 *  ף,פ
 * f
 *  פי/fy/ “in”
 * צ
 * ṣ
 *  צנע/ṣn‘/ “he did”
 *  ץ׳,צ׳
 * ṣ̄
 *  ארץ׳/ʼrṣ̄/ “earth”
 * ṣ̄
 *  ארץ׳/ʼrṣ̄/ “earth”

 צ׳אלם/ṣ̄ʼlm/ “wicked”
 * ק
 * q
 *  קאל/qʼl/ “he said”
 *  קאל/qʼl/ “he said”

 מקדס/mqds/ “holy”
 * ר
 * r
 *  רבי/rby/ “rabbi”
 * ש,שׁ
 * š
 *  שעב/ š‘b/ “nation”
 * š
 *  שעב/ š‘b/ “nation”

 משרק/mšrq/ “east”
 * שׂ
 * ś
 *  ישׂראל/Yśrʼyl/ “Israel”
 * }1/31/2011
 * }1/31/2011


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{|cellspacing=0  סבתּ/sbt/ “Sabbath”
 * ת,תּ
 * t
 *  תּקול/tqwl/ “you say”
 * t
 *  תּקול/tqwl/ “you say”

ʼl
 *
 * colspan=3 |Ligature
 * ﭏ
 * initial:
 * ﭏ
 * initial:
 * initial:
 *  ﭏ/ʼl/ “the”

 מﭏ/mʼl/ “property”
 * }

Notes

1. The ALA/LC system of romanization for Judeo-Arabic provides a one-to-one representation of the consonants in the text, including “alif” (א), "y" (י) and "w" (ו) which sometimes represent long vowels and sometimes consonants.

2. Judeo-Arabic texts are produced both with and without vocalization. Because of the multiglossic nature of Judeo-Arabic and its texts, when the short vowels are not represented in the text, there no way to treat them that would be useful and reliable across all dialects. It is also not practical for catalogers to attempt to provide vowels matching those of Standard Arabic, because of the frequent difficulty of matching Judeo-Arabic lexical items to equivalent Standard Arabic forms. Even if there were an attempt to provide a complete “normalization” of Judeo-Arabic morphology for all the parts of speech, a kind of artificial “cataloging dialect,” neither catalogers nor patrons could be expected to study it in enough depth to make it useful, nor could it agree in all points with any actual dialect. 1/31/2011