Invisible forces at work

It’s inevitable that anything invisible tends to be supernatural in the sense of being uncertain about who or what causes it. Who can be trusted and who can’t. In fact, such beliefs used to be the norm in Europe and they’re very much so still in Africa. (I actually consider the religiosity of 21st century Africa to be comparable to its early modern European counterpart as it gives a better idea of what the latter was like.)

Even today there’s still a belief in the supernatural but in the developed world, it’s generally associated with either fundamentalists or fringe groups if because the belief in the supernatural in general declined. Secularism more or less takes place in times of certainty and safety whereas poorer countries rely on religion to make sense of suffering and misfortune. Not necessarily good or bad.

But that when it comes to misfortune, it can be easy to be wary but also a need to find something or somebody to rely on.

Why religion is unsettling

I suspect the other reason why secularism happened’s because religion’s rather frightening in the sense of dealing with invisible forces that don’t take sides with people at times. Sometimes causing them misfortune for misdeeds. The fact that God can be temperamental can be enough to induce fear in people. Not to mention it gets confusing for even the layperson and clergy alike whether if it’s him or something/somebody else.

Pets on the other hand give immediate, if superficial, certainty. Not that it’s bad but that they just feel safer and less demanding than somebody so invisible and demanding (at times) even though the latter can do wonders. But what I’m saying’s that secular fandom more or less happened at times from being overwhelmed by uncertain invisible forces that it just feels safer. Not necessarily any better or worse.

But something so faceless can cause a lot of uncertainty even in devout followers.

An Essay on the Art of Ingeniously Tormenting (Google Books)

That a love to this science is imi
planted in our natures, or early incul
cated, is very evident, from the de
light many children take in teazing
and tormenting little dogs, cats, squir
rels, or any other harmless animal,
that they get into their power.

If you have no children, keep as
a quantity of tame animals as you conveniently can. If you have chil
a smaller number will do. Shew
the most extravagant poſ.
fibly can, for all these animals. Let them
be of the most troublesome and mis
chievous sort,ſuch as cats,monkeys, par
rots, squirels, and little snarling lap
dogs.Their uses for the Tormentingyour
servants are various. In the first place,
if they are properly encouraged, and
never tamed, they will be so liberal of
their teeth and claws, that the servants
will, in general, be bit and scratched all
over. Then, if any servant should
dare to offend one of these favourites,
there is
a noble field for scolding and
rating them: and one farther use, and
not one of the least, of these animals
is to feed them with all sorts of rarities,
and give them (I mean the dogs and
cats) what your servants would be – glad
28 The A R T of
glad of, while you feed them with
the coarsest and cheapest diet that you
can get.

There is some difficulty in giving
rules for tormenting a dependent, that
shall differ from those already laid
down for plaguing and teazing your servants, as the two stations differ so
very little in themselves. The ser
vant, indeed, differs in this ; she re
ceives wages, and the humble com
panion receives none: the servant is
most part of the day out of your light;
the humble companion is always ready
at hand to receive every cross word that
rises in your mind: the servants can
be teazed only by yourself, your dogs,
your cats, your parrots, your children;
the humble companion, besides being the
A 43
T IN G. 4-3
the ſport of all these, must, if you
manage rightly, bear the insults of all your servants themselves; who, the
worse you use them, will the more
readily use the power you give them, of revenging themselves on poor Miss

Supposing your child, or children, to outlive all these your kind indul gences, encourage them in all forts of cruelty; first to flies and birds, then to dogs, cats, or any other animals, that come in their way. This will ha bituate them to that true hardness of heart, which is the foundation of our science.


Changes in pet ownership attitudes

It’s not that there wasn’t any benefit to pet ownership before but that the purely positive undertones occurred much later. More often than not in history, it’s generally ambivalent. There was value in pet ownership but not when it’s met with suspicion whether on the basis of witchcraft or a form of social ineptitude and selfishness (in the sense of caring more for them than for people) that a purely sentimental attitude would arrive much later. The suspicions still exist to this day, even among well-meaning people.

What should be remembered’s that we’ve come a long way when it comes to understanding the benefits of pet ownership in the context of the hierarchy of needs. However in the case of commensal domesticates like cats and dogs, these are inevitably met with some amount of uncertainty on the basis of liminal pestilence. They’re useful for hunting vermin but they can become vermin themselves. Not to mention that even having dogs purely for companionship, though beneficial, was met with distrust.

Even today. It’s not wrong to have them as pets but that historically even having a pet dog (and especially if it’s either a toy dog or a poodle) purely as a companion’s met with suspicion, whether as a marker of spinsterhood, witchcraft or bestiality.


Dog By Susan McHugh (Google Books)

The idea that little dogs both stand for and take the place of humans as objects of a wealthy woman’s affection informs the most common derogatory stereotypes of small dog  breeds. A contemporary of Barner, Geoffrey Chaucer clarifies this critique as the narrator of his Canterbury Tales chides the Prioress for giving her ‘smale houndes’ the best food along with her ‘tender herte’, suggesting that these would better serve men. With the rapid growth of the merchant classes during the Renaissance, the relationship of leisured women with their small dogs became more common, and consequently a favourite of misogynist abuse as well as class critique. Abraham Fleming, who in 1576 published a fast and loose translation of Caius under the title Of English Dogges, embellishes his source to add harsh words only for women who keep ‘toye’ dogs, an especially ‘currish kinde’. Fleming waxes ministerial, even poetic, as he condemns dogs of ‘daintie dames’ or ‘wanton women’s toys as instruments of folly for them to play and dally withal, to tryfle away the treasure of time, to withdraw their mindes from more commendable exercises, and to content their corrupted concupiscences with vaine disport’. The high rhetoric bringing together such disparate ideas of sex perversion, sociopathy and wastefulness in the image of a rich woman with a small dog would be laughable if it did not sound so current.

Childless with dogs (Google Books)

Savvy Auntie: The Ultimate Guide for Cool Aunts, Great-Aunts, …

Melanie Notkin – 2011 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
“What a wonderful gift this book is for aunties of all of ages, backgrounds, shapes and varieties!” —Elizabeth Gilbert, New York Times bestselling author of Eat, Pray, Love “Melanie Notkin shines a much-needed spotlight on a bond …
Publications D’ethnologie – Page 165

1970 – ‎Snippet view
On the other hand, when stray dogs in the village sometimes get into bloody fights, all women and children in the vicinity are likely to … Most often they belonged to childless women or to mothers whose children had grown up and left them.
My old people say: an ethnographic survey of Southern Yukon Territory

Catharine McClellan, ‎Canadian Ethnology Service, ‎Canadian Museum of Civilization – 2001 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
On the other hand, when stray dogs in the village sometimes get into bloody fights, all women and children in the vicinity are likely to … Most often they belonged to childless women or to mothers whose children had grown up and left them.
Nobody’s Mother: Life Without Kids

Marlene A. D. Lynne Van Luven, ‎Lynne Van Luven – 2006 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Nobody’s Mother is a collection of stories by women who have already made this choice. From introspective to humorous to rabble-rousing, these are personal stories that are well and honestly told.
Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision …

Meghan Daum – 2015 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed makes a thoughtful and passionate case for why parenthood is not the only path in life, taking our parent-centric, kid-fixated, baby-bump-patrolling culture to task in the process.
Second-Chance Dogs: True Stories of the Dogs We Rescue and the Dogs …

Callie Smith Grant – 2018 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
This collection of more than thirty contemporary, true, feel-good stories spotlights the beauty of being rescued–dogs rescued by people, people rescued by dogs, and even dogs who rescue other animals.
On Toby’s Terms (a Dog Story with a Happy Ending)

Charmaine Hammond – 2010 – ‎Preview
The inside scoop from the Cupid of Beverly Hills, who has brought together countless couples who have gone on to live happily ever after.
Papers of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard …

1947 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
The two dogs fought. Small Boy said, “Ma, loose the dogs.” Small Boy took a knife. He cut the rope. The dogs ran. Pe called them, “Ta La … Man said to Childless Woman, “You don’t bear me children, I will not give you a cloth. I will clothe the …
No Kidding: Women Writers on Bypassing Parenthood

Henriette Mantel – 2013 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
This fascinating collection features a star-studded group of contributors—including Margaret Cho, Wendy Liebman, Laurie Graff, and other accomplished, funny women—writing about why they opted out of motherhood.
Women in a Man’s World, Crying: Essays – Page 49

Vicki Covington – 2002 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
buried our dog in the summer of 1993. Annie was born in our home December 13, 1982. That’s how long we’d had her. She was the blond runt of a fine litter of golden retrievers. We were childless in those days—infertile, we believed.

Motherhood Missed: Stories from Women Who Are Childless by Circumstance

Lois Tonkin – 2018 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Featuring international interviews by grief counsellor and researcher Lois Tonkin, this collection of first-person stories provides insight into the under-discussed situation of being childless by circumstance.
Vick’s Illustrated Monthly Magazine – Volume 11 – Page 251

1888 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
“There are childless women who should feel self-condemned for pampering and petting lap-dogs, when so many human waifs go uncared for, except as public charity picks them up. A woman whose care of a homeless child finally develops a …
Vick’s Magazine – Volume 11 – Page 251

1888 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
There are childless women who should feel self-condemned for pampering and petting lap-dogs, when so many human waifs go uncared for, except as public charity picks them up. A woman whose care of a homeless child finally develops a …
Vick’s Monthly Magazine – Volume 11 – Page 251

1888 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
There are childless women who should feel self-condemned for pampering and petting lap-dogs, when so many human waifs go uncared for, except as public charity picks them up. A woman whose care of a homeless child finally develops a …
First Friend: A History of Dogs and Humans – Page 96

Katharine Rogers – 2010 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Albert Payson Terhune extravagantly admired all dogs except “lap dogs — those excuseless excuses for caninity which childless women overfeed and underexercise.”15 Women who loved their little dogs were equally blamable whether they …
Otherhood: Modern Women Finding A New Kind of Happiness

Melanie Notkin – 2014 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
In Otherhood, author Melanie Notkin reveals her own story as well as the honest, poignant, humorous, and occasionally heartbreaking stories of women in her generation—women who expected love, marriage, and parenthood, but instead found …
The Arminian Skeleton: or, the Arminian dissected and anatomized … …

William HUNTINGTON (S.S.) – 1801 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
However, this discourse was not without effećt ; an aged woman, who fat very attentively to hear what the Bible, … of pretended lovers, It is common iņ our days to fee lapdogs in the eoaches of childless women, which would look better if filled …
Sketch For A Self Portrait

Bernard Berenson – 2013 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Nor can I recall going back on a woman except one. Her I discovered … or enfeebled by age. Its most extravagant manifestations are among childless women, caressing, fondling, living for their lapdogs, but easily replacing them when they …

It is hard to reason myself out of the fear that I
am merely an affectionate, caressing creature, satis-


fying a need almost physiological, rather than a
person with a heart. I do not trust affectionateness
any more than amorousness, which in fact it replaces
when the other is congenitally feeble or enfeebled
by age. Its most extravagant manifestations are
among childless women, caressing, fondling, living
for their lapdogs, but easily replacing them when
they die. The fussiest exhibitions of this heartless-
ness are given by women who carry on a cruel war
against a poor carter who has not been as con-
siderate of his beast of burden as they would be to
a pet; or who take a malignant dislike to an ac-
quaintance who has clumsily trod on their spaniel’s
tail. I confess to a certain sympathy with the Nea-
politan peasant who answers the protestations of the
Anglo-Saxon spinster against his presumed unkind-
ness to his beast with ‘Won e cristiano” He is not
a human being. I share the reluctance of Holy
Church to give its blessing to societies for the pro-
tection of animals. But to return to affectionateness:
selfish and cruelly indifferent men and women who
would not lift a finger to help or comfort an ac-
quaintance not present would spare no trouble, no
expense, to procure for themselves the pleasure of
that person’s high spirits and jollity for so long
as he was with them.
Childless: A Novel

James Dobson, ‎Kurt Bruner – 2013 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
This eagerly awaited follow-up vividly imagines what happens when the abiding joys of parenthood are exchanged for the gradual deterioration of a CHILDLESS world.
Savvy Auntie: The Ultimate Guide for Cool Aunts, Great-Aunts, …

Melanie Notkin – 2011 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
“What a wonderful gift this book is for aunties of all of ages, backgrounds, shapes and varieties!” —Elizabeth Gilbert, New York Times bestselling author of Eat, Pray, Love “Melanie Notkin shines a much-needed spotlight on a bond …

The Arminian Skeleton: or, the Arminian dissected and anatomized … Second …
By William HUNTINGTON (S.S.)
About this book

Terms of Service

65 – 69

Page images
people joyful. First thou teachest fouls to deny the doćtrines of the established Church, and then fendest them to church to confess them. They are taught to contradićt God, and then fent to mock him. Surely that charity can be of but little use to my foul that teaches me to give God the lie, and then draw out a wide mouth at him. O Charity, thou usest the tongue of the crafty, and diggest a pit for thy friends. Job vi. 27.

The whole work of pretended charity feems to be nothing elfe but reconciling Christ and Satan, truth and error, faints and finners, together. But the throne of iniquity shall have no fellowship with God, nor they who frame mischief by a law. Psalm xciv. 2o. What part bath he that believeth with an infidel ? I don’t know, Paul; yotrmuft ask Univerfal Charity this question; it is all her work. If a man was to bring into my house a troop of wizards, witches, heathens, robbers, and murderers, and unite them with me and my family, I should not think it a very charitable aćt : and those that couple Christ and Satan will find nothing but wrath from him for their pains. What is the chaff to the wheat ?

Surely the Saviour’s family, which he received in eternity, and redeemed from among men, are not to be thus jumbled together with pagans. But all this is the noble effećt of free-will, free-thinking, and pretended love. Pope fays, “ Though God bound nature fast in fate, yet he left free the human – E will.” will.” And he has acted with God and his faints as all free-willers do, namely, ftir heaven, earth, and heli together. But God’s gulfs are fixed, and no free-willer shall ever spread the fails of human merit, nor strengthen the mast of free-will, nor use the oar ofhuman excellency, to cross that unfathomable gulf. Isaiah xxxiii. 23. And, befides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed ; Jo that they which would pass from bence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us that would come from thence. Luke xvi. 26.

Universal Charity operates wonderfully on that learned body the Deists. They discover the fame enmity against the fovereign God of the universe, and his revealed word, as the Arminians or papists do ; but are as tender of rebels and brutes as any on earth befide. I believe the doćtrine of Pythagoras sprung from this root, namely, the brutal paffions of unfanćtified nature : and we have many in our days who will advance errors to the destruction of many fouls, yet are fo tender of brutes and infećts, that they would kifs a fly, and difdain to hurt a worm.

Not long ago I was in company with a gentleman who makes a profession of Christ, and was to fpend the evening and lodge that night with him. . I found his head wonderfully stocked with the doctrines of the millennium, or Christ’s personal reign on earth a thousand years. I gave him to under

ftand that I believed the beavens must receive Christ

till the restitution of all things (Acts iii. 21); and that he would not be seen till he arose from athrone of grace, shut the door of mercy, and appeared on the throne of judgment; however, he had wonderful notions of the thousand years’ reign to come. I thought to-day I was to hear his voice, and that a heart established with grace was better thana head ftored with notions of a thousand years to come. Howevşr, he brought many strange things to my ears about it, and he is welcome to them; for my part, I must confess I love a religion that is near home-I mean in my heart; that I may enjoy it in

my pilgrimage through this miferable world. Having fat a while to have my head stuffed with these things-(only my head, I fay, for it went no deeper) the fecond entertainment was to be performed by Mrs. Charity. As foon as she came forth I expećted fomething new and strange, for the is very pregnant with her witty inventions. Here I was told that this millennium was to restore all things; brutes, fishes, creeping things, and infećts; all were to appear as when created: and he had fome hope of their falvation too, devils themfelves also not excluded. And to prop up his fancy, he brought this text of scripture; And every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and fuch as are in the Jea, and all that are in them, heard Ifaying, Bleffing, honour, glozy, and power, he unto him that fitteth upon the throne, anduntothe Lamb foreverandever. Rev.v. 13. * I 2 I fat


Î sat and argued with him till one o’clock in the morning, but to no purpose; he was too firmly eftablished to be moved with fuch weak arguments as mine. I therefore left him in his principles; and fince that time have taken care never to hear any more of them. This convinced me that Universal Charity is a resident in a carnal heart, but only a vifitor to God’s elect. I know a lady who is wonderfully influenced by it: she is like Saul ofold, a pharifee of the strićtest fećt; and charitable to all forts, except those crawling mortals called Whitefieldites. She cannot bear them nor their doctrine to be mentioned; but is very tender to any poor girl of the town whom the foul disease has rendered incapable of bufiness ; yet a poor honest married woman, who is rich in faith, and poor in pocket, would speed but badly if she went to her in the ‘ name of Jesus.

The innkeeper that we read of in Luke appears to be one of this fort; the inn was full, there was room for all but Joseph and Mary; they were of another lineage, therefore they must house in the ftable, though the blefied virgin was in the perils of childbirth. – .

I was informed that a minifter of the church of England once went on the thirtieth of January, to preach king Charles out of purgatory; in which discourse he painted the Presbyterians in very fable colours, but drew the king in very pathetic lines. Where he took his text I know not : but we all – ‘ ! know

* ** ** **


know that the Bible fays nothing against an honest Presbyterian, nor any thing in behalf of the author of massacres. However, this discourse was not without effećt ; an aged woman, who fat very attentively to hear what the Bible, or rather the priest, had to say, had her bowels of charity fo moved with fympathy for the king, that her cheeks were all bedewed with tears; and yet fo incensed against the Presbyterians, that she declared to an old diffenter, who fat next to her, that, if there had been a Prefbyterian as near her as he was, she would have run her knife into his heart. –

– It was well for the man who informed me that fhe was ignorant of his being one of that number. This fort of charity always flows two ways ; it runs up in rebellion, but down in compassion. I believe Herod was not destitute of it, for he was very tender of his brother’s wife–he could take her to his own bed rather than fend her home in the dark; and a great rewarder of fleshly excellency-he offered half his kingdom to reward a dancing foot; but in the matter of John, the Calvinist, he was rather fevere, as it generally happens with fuch fort of pre

tended lovers, It is common iņ our days to fee lapdogs in the eoaches of childless women, which would look better if filled with crippled infants, I have fome reason to fufpećt that Ahab had many of these hairy paffengers in his chariot, which caused Elijah, the falt of the earth and chariot of the nation, to run in the E 3 ftorm

Vick’s Illustrated Monthly Magazine, Volume 11
About this book

Terms of Service

248 – 252

Page images
In illustration of the winter storage of fruits, a subject of eager investigation at this time by fruit-growers, we here present some extracts and engravings from the Bulletin of May, of this year, prepared by Professor Roberts, and issued by the Agricultural Experiment Station at Cornell University. The engravings represent the method in which a dairy house has been constructed on the University farm. The plan and details are published by the Station “with the hope that some ideas


that may be of value to dairy farmers of the State can be gained from them, and that they may also be of use to those who wish to construct buildings for the storage of fruit, or dwelling houses in cold, windy localities. “Durability, convenience for work, and a cheap wall capable of excluding cold, heat and moisture were made prominent features in its construction. The foundation walls, laid below frost, were built by the farm hands out of small refuse stone and brickbats, water-lime and sand. “Planks were used to sustain the grout until the mortar was sufficiently hard to bind the mass together. The stones were placed in the mould about six inches deep, when thin mortar was poured upon them, then another layer of stone and more mortar, and so on till the wall was carried to the top of the planks. In about three hours it had hardened enough so that the mould could be raised and the work proceeded with without injury to the wall. No stone should touch the plank, or the wall will be disturbed when the mould is raised. “Stones varying from ten pounds to five ounces were used to form the foundation of the floor; the larger stones were placed at the bottom, the mass thoroughly saturated with water and all forced into the earth with a heavy wooden pounder. A thin coat of gravel was next spread over the whole and solidified in the same way. When the superstructure was completed the mass was again wet and treated with Fig 2-verrical section a coat of thin mortar composed of four parts of sand and one OF WALL AND ROOF. of water-lime, and this solidified as above. When sufficiently hard to sustain the workmen, the whole was covered with a coat three-quarters of an inch thick made of three parts sand and one of Rosendale cement. Akron cement is better than water-lime and equally as good as Rosendale. After about twenty-four hours the floor was sprinkled will water, and also whenever thereafter it had the appearance of drying too rapidly. The floor appears to depart too much from a straight line; but a long use of the building shows that this is the best form. Racks placed near the walls form level shelves upon which to place ‘” and pails. The descent from end to end of the building is about six 24


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three-quarter building. The wall has four dead-air spaces, formed by three divisions of paper placed perpendicularly, and the outside and inside boarding. “To construct the paper partitions (b, Fig. 3.) between the studding, strong building paper was cut to half width and bent thus – and secured by nailing common lath to the studs. To form the outside and inside divisions, (a, a, Fig. 3.) paper full width, reaching from top of plate to bottom of sill, and lapped on alternate studs was secured by nailing strips one by two inches to the faces of the studding. The rafters are so framed that the air can pass freely upwards between the roof boards and the ceiling of the upper room (see arrow, Fig. 2), and out at the extreme gable ends through a latticed window, not shown in diagram. By this simple contrivance a current of air is kept constantly passing beneath the roof boards, which keeps the upper room cool in summer, but not warm enough in winter to prevent freezing, unless there is a fire in the lower room. In dwelling houses, this space should be closed by notching the frieze board around the rafters and extending it upward till it meets the lower side of the roof board. The windows should be either double or double-glazed. The partition and door dividing the work room from the cold room is constructed the same as the outside walls. The joists of the second floor are covered with heavy paper on the bottem and top before the ceiling and floor are laid. The inside of all the rooms are


covered with matched Georgia Pine and treated with two coats of hard oil. “The cold room has been tested and found entirely satisfactory, not only for dairy purposes, but for keeping Apples and Grapes. “In very cold localities the walls for fruit houses should be made thicker than shown, by using studding six or eight inches wide, so that the two inside air spaces may contain a greater amount of confined air.” Only the figures that serve to show the construction are here reproduced, and all are made on the scale of three-fourths of an inch to one foot. ––HORTICULTURAL GATHERING. The first meeting of the season of the Chautauqua Horticultural Society was held Saturday, June 23d, at DUNCAN’s Lake Shore Vineyards, North East, Pa. Three hundred people were present, and a lively interest showed in fruit matters. The farm, or fruit garden, with the foregoing name, has one hundred and ten acres, very handsomely situated on gently rolling upland and lying on both sides of the highway. There is a large Catawba vineyard of considerable age. A great part is comparatively new vineyard. One hundred acres are planted to vines, eighty acres now in bearing. The varieties are twenty acres Catawba, four acres Delaware, three acres Ives, the balance Concord. The yield last season was one hundred tons, which sold for $6,ooo. When this vineyard shall have reached full maturity, and with the improved modern methods of trellising and thorough tillage made possible, and, in fact, easy by the improved cultivators of today, it is safe to say the yield of last season will be trebled, if not increased fourfold. Mr. DUNCAN, the proprietor, is a very enthusiastic horticulturist, owning another large vineyard in the town. In the discussion considerable was said as to the cause of the loss of vines set in the spring of 1887, on the premises of Mr. DRAKE. These vines received excellent care, and made a large growth,

but were badly killed during the winter.

Two theories were advanced, one that it was due to the land overflowing with water and subsequently freezing, the other that it was due to excessive use of fertilizers rich in nitrogen, inducing a rank growth deficient in woody fiber and not hardy enough to endure the winter. Very great trouble has been experienced the past spring, in this region, by reason of the cut-worm, and Messrs. RYCKMAN and SCHOENFELD said if we would be rid of the cut-worm we must protect the skunks, their natural enemy and destroyer. It was pronounced a shame that small boys are allowed to roam the fields, gun in hand, to shoot useful animals. Mr. RycKMAN said the prospect for a large crop of Grapes, this season, was good. He said there were Concords set for a yield of six to eight tons per acre. A splendid dinner was served, the North East Band furnishing music. The afternoon exercises were enlivened by fine singing by a Glee Club, two of the selections being “Don’t Sell the Farm,” and “Hail to the Farmer.” This June 23d, fields of Clover are cut and in the barn, Grapes most varieties in full blossom, Barley, of which large fields are raised hereabouts, is very short owing to dry weather. Peaches are a good crop, whereas, in Chautauqua county they are a failure. It is found that in these dry seasons late planted Potatoes sometimes do best, and we saw large fields just coming up. Mr. CALVIN LEET exhibited a superb plate of Jessie Strawberries, also Cumberland. The former attracted much attention, being nearly the size of the Sharpless, and no white tips. S. S. CRISSEY. –—OUR NATIONAL FLOWERS. Some one has named the Trailing Arbutus as our national flower, and to this the American Florist objects, on the ground that it is not common to all parts of the country, and at the same time nominates the Pansy for the position. The objection made to the Arbutus, and which is valid, has still greater force

against the Pansy, which is common to no part of the country, but is a garden variety of a European plant. Our own preference on this point was made known several years since, in these pages, when writing of Golden Rods and Asters, in the following words: “After midsummer, in this country, our rural landscape is everywhere brightened by the Golden Rods and Asters; they form a distinct and beautiful feature of the scenery. The eyes of our countrymen are everywhere gladdened by their smiles, north and south, east and west, on the hills and the mountain sides, in the valleys and on the broad prairies, by the roadsides and the streams, and in the fields and copses they stand as tokens of the genial heat that brings from the soil the golden grains and the beautiful, luscious fruits. No other country in the zworld is thus characterized, these plants belong to America, and as such should be our pride and delight.” * * * * * + + + + “While, on this continent, there are from sixty to seventy species, and perhaps more, of the Solidagos, or Golden Rods, and nearly all of them of vigorous habit, growing from a foot to eight feet in height, all the world besides affords less than a dozen, and these, for the most part, of small size, and confined to few localities of limited area, and always in such small numbers as to make them rare plants. “The species of Asters, in this country, are still more numerous than those of the Golden Rod. Both are the children of the sun, basking in his favors and reflecting his smiles. Although many indigenous species of flowers are peculiar to this country, yet none so abound and apparently claim possession as these. And

grouped together they might appropriafely be taken as our national flowers, emblems of endurance, vigor, light and freedom.”


A second – HAND STORY.


“No, Agnes, dear, I do not approve of lap-dogs. I never saw but one which interested me as such. They usually absorb care and attention – not to say money—that should be given to some higher interest, while the occasional sacrifice of life from their rabid tendencies is a bitter penalty. “There are childless women who should feel self-condemned for pampering and petting lap-dogs, when so many human waifs go uncared for, except as public charity picks them up. A woman whose care of a homeless child finally develops a worthy member of society does a noble work for both time and eternity. Moreover, she is likely to be fully repaid by grateful help and genuine love in return, at a time when such love and help corne to be most valued. “If there are exceptions to this result, so there are to every worthy effort in life. We must not, therefore, cease trying to do good. Place such a woman beside one who has spent her time, care and silly endearments upon a dog, and how do they compare?” “O, auntie, how strongly you put it.” “Not at all. I’ve referred to the two cases in the simplest language possible. It is only that the latter case will not bear comparison with the former. Although you are too young, my dear, to assume grave responsibilities, you are not too young to form correct ideas for future guidance.” “I suppose not, for already I feel differently about lap-dogs for pets. But they are such cunning little things.” “Yes, and so are birds, squirrels and rabbits; even little pigs, clean and white, are very cunning.” “So they are; but, auntie, if lap-dogs were not intended for special pets, pray tell me for what they were created.” “I can no more tell you that than I can tell you for what rats, moles and mosquitoes were created, in common with various other annoying animals and in

sects. But I can tell you this—they were all of them created to take care of themselves. It is only when their native habits are interfered with that they cannot do this. Of course, when man domesticates animals for his use or pleasure, he must take care of them. But, however persistently certain people may continue to make pets of useless dogs, you may always feel sure that the Deity never made a four-legged creature for a woman’s lap. He never made a lap-dog. Now we’ll change the subject.” “Not yet, auntie, please. I can’t forget the one lap-dog that interested you ‘as such.” Will you not tell me about it?” “That was a slip of the tongue, dear. I was much more interested in its young owner. If I were to tell you her story I should have to condense it and spoil it, for the carriage will soon be here.” “Never mind that—I’m story-hungry and can’t wait.” “Well, we met on a lake steamer, and it was her dog that led the way to her telling me her history, one day, when we were sitting on deck quite apart from the rest, she on a low seat with her dot of a dog at her feet. She was occupied, as usual, with her double-hemstitching of yards and yards of rufflings, made of the sheerest of Irish linen cambric. She said it was for her sister’s child, which child was the only being in the world in whose veins ran a drop of their blood—hers and her sisters—and that nothing seemed too precious for it. “As we sat there, idly chatting, or dreamily listening to the swash of the water and the labored chug and grind of engine and gearing, she finally dropped her work in her lap, and, bowing her head, covered her eyes with her hand. Her dog, always on the alert, instantly sprang into her lap, and putting a paw upon either cheek, began crying most piteously. As soon as she raised her hand a little and smiled, he jumped down and frolicked as though over-joyed.

“‘Ditto thought I was crying, she said. “One would suppose,” I remarked, “that so young a person as you seem to be, could never have cried enough for him to know what it means. “‘I’ve cried oceans of tears, she responded, quietly, “but I never shall again —no matter what may happen. I am only twenty, and have been married two years. But my troubles commenced when a child—mine and my sister’s. I have had Ditto three years, he crossed the ocean and back with me, or I think I could part with him now, for I’ve seen so much silliness exhibited by the owners of lap-dogs that I dislike to have the credit of possessing one. I have tried giving him away, but he pines and will not eat and is soon returned to me to save his life. You see he is a dog of one idea,’ she laughed, “his sole interest being centered in me.” “May I not know more of your history, I inquired. Your remarks have inspired a deep interest. “‘Yes, you may, she replied, ‘because I think you are one to appreciate it. Our parents died of yellow fever, in the south, when I was too young to realize my loss, though I well remember the shock and sorrow of it. Our father’s brother, the only relative left us, was there, and with his strong arms about me, I remember of feeling so sheltered and safe on his broad chest, as he rocked and soothed me or carried me about, that I felt I could be comforted if only my sister would stop weeping and sobbing, for I was sure she knew just how much need there was for crying, and just how long it should be continued. The poor girl being older, appreciated more, and was nearly heartbroken. “‘In a few days afterward we found ourselves, with our black nurse and white governess, established in our uncle’s bachelor house. He was very fond of us, often saying that we were all he had left in the world, and that we were to be his own precious daughters. Thus two years glided happily away, when, one day, he returned from an autumn hunt with a sore throat and cough. His party had camped out, and there had been a drenching rain. “‘As the days passed by he seemed surprised that his cough got no better and that his sore throat had lapsed into

a settled hoarseness. One day, he said, “Girls, why don’t you charm this trouble away. I never was sick, and I don’t know what it means. Then my sister bustled around and made a hot lemonade, and ordered a foot-bath, as she’d seen our mother do, after which she coaxed him to bed and rubbed his throat and chest with some irritating mixture, while I tucked up his feet and limbs, he joking the while about us two little midgets trying to make him think he was sick. “‘But he grew no better, and our governess said he ought to have a physician, for sometimes quick consumption and bronchitis began in that way. So we hurried to tell him what she said, and at first he laughed at the idea of having a doctor; but when we had told him all, was silent a minute, and then said, slowly, as though talking to himself, “Quick consumption l if there is any chance for that I’ve got it already. Jucco, his body servant, soon had a doctor on hand, who examined his chest a long time, and then scolded everybody, black and white, because he had not been sent for sooner. “‘By this time sister and I were actually terrified lest we were about to lose our last remaining relative and protector. Fleeing to our old nurse and governess, our cries and lamentations could not be restrained until they reminded us that we might be of great comfort to our uncle by being bright and cheery in his presence, and that unless we could be so, we could not be allowed in his room— now, when he would be so lonely without us. With such incentive for cheerfulness we soon repressed all outward signs of grief, and bathing our faces, hastened softly to his room. As we approached the open door we saw him throw up his arms and turn over to the wall, exclaiming: “‘I don’t want to die want to die! “‘That was enough ; we turned and silently fled, lest our bursting hearts should cry out in his hearing. With arms clasped about each other, we were suddenly conscious of a new feeling—our own trouble was eclipsed by sorrow for our uncle; we were so sorry, sorry for him—he did not want to die—oh, if we could only save him for that; we quite forgot ourselves in our pity for the great,

Harper’s Magazine – Volume 152 – Page 352

1926 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
make a dog an ideal pal or guard. I do not refer to lap dogs — those excuseless excuses for caninity which childless women overfeed and underexercise. Yet, even the lap dog has his points of superiority over man. We keep lap dogs indoors, …
Women Without Children: The Reasons, the Rewards, the Regrets

Susan S. Lang – 1996 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Explores the lives of women from a variety of backgrounds who never had children and examines their feelings about their “child-free” state
The Ethics of Medical Homicide and Mutilation – Page 236

Austin O ́Malley – 2018 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Probably ninety-five per cent. of the childless women had used contraceptive methods, yet there are few forces better able to hold the marriage knot tied as it … One decent mother is worth a hundred shirkers who raise nothing but lap dogs.
The American Magazine – Volume 32 – Page 690

1891 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
She bore herself like a daughter toward the childless woman. * ” Lepel’s death lias blotted out all his … Well, I saw two women inside the vehicle — one young, one old — and some fluffy lapdogs. All belonged, without doubt, to the four hundred …
Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly – Volume 32 – Page 690

Frank Leslie – 1891 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
She bore herself like a daughter toward the childless woman. ” Lepel’s death has blotted out all his … Well, I saw two women inside the vehicle — one young, one old — and some fluffy lapdogs. All belonged, without doubt, to the four hundred.
Sex Knowledge – Page 70

Norah Helena March – 1922 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
When a childless woman directs her motherhood interests to an infatuated care of cats, lap-dogs, and canaries, she is much more to be pitied than to be blamed, for her peculiarity is the result of unsatisfied desires, probably unconscious ones, …
Colin II – Page 49

Edward Frederic Benson – 1994 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
… true appreciation of her fiery magnificence and courage as well as of those aged tendernesses of a childless woman who makes an idol of a boy or a lapdog to quench the thirst of her virginity. No lapdog indeed, was Colin, he could stand up …
Childless by Marriage

Sue Fagalde Lick – 2012 – ‎No preview
“This is the story of how a woman becomes childless by marriage and how it affects every aspect of her life .

Lauren Groff – 2018 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
The stories in this collection span characters, towns, decades, even centuries, but Florida—its landscape, climate, history, and state of mind—becomes its gravitational center: an energy, a mood, as much as a place of residence.
The Bolter

Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly, Volume 32
edited by Frank Leslie
About this book

Terms of Service

686 – 690

Page images
At the eleventh hour, or, more literally speaking, four days before the Nethla stretched her white wings and carried us further south, a guide was found, and, with hope renewed, we set sail again for the Miami, with three light-draft boats trailing at our stern, and our minds made up to go through anything, so that it led to a Seminole camp. The day was warm, and the sky heavy with rainclouds, which hung lower and lower, as we took to tho small boats and were rowed, jioled, paddled, pushed and puiled up the lovely stream, which grew more and more narrow the nearer we approached the Everglades, until even the female contingent were obliged to get out and stumble along over tho coral edges, while the men dragged the boats over the rooks and through the rapids into the Everglade trail. Never shall I forget that scene. Imagine acres and acres of saw grass waving in every direction, like a giant cornfield. On the horizon lay stretches of forests melting into feathery distances. At intervals lay dots of wooded islands apparently untrodden by the foot of man or beast. Strange birds swept through the air. The cry of one of them was like a lost child. A goldfish leaped in the air almost across the steward’s oar, and white lilies, like Easter lilies, nodded at us as their roots were stirred by our passage.

At last a small cabin appeared a short distance before us. A few moments later, “John Billy,*’ son-iu-law of ” Billy Harney,” gave us a pleasant nod and “Howd’y,” as he helped us mount the wooden platform which saved us from a mud bath.

We followed him into the camp, and found “Billy Harney ” sitting on the edge of a rough table, upon which was spread dried corn, beans, starch, and other products of their fields. His daughters, with their pickaninnies, were grouped near the cooking shanty, and the eldest of them seemed to be in charge of the great iron kettle which swung above the log fire.

The old man shook hands with each of us, and was quite ready to talk. But to be frank, I did not feel thoroughly at ease. I was certain that the men were kindly disposed, but I discerned in the women’s faces a distinct resentment, which all our offerings of various trifles failed to remove. Indeed, the presiding genius of the culinary department calmly folded the handkerchief given her in the leaves of the accompanying book, and handed both back to the donor, with a enriou8 gesture of disdain. It was not until purchases of corn and beans were effected that she made the least attempt at civility; and the younger women kept up a continual comment upon our party, between themselves, with numerous outbursts of laughter and suggestive shrugs.

While the rest of the party were moving about and absorbing the attention of our host, who kindly but firmly declined being photographed, the little detective did its work, as well as it could under the circumstances, and when we took our leave, it was with mingled feelings of satisfaction and regret.

It must be confessed that there is nothing in the least romantic about a Seminole camp. The principal house belongs to the head of the settlement, and in “Billy Harney’s ‘ camp was the only dwelling that boasted four boarded-in sides. The others were composed of four posts, surmounted by a thatched roof. A platform, or floor of logs, raised about two feet above the ground, affords sitting and sleeping accommodations, and other shanties of like construction are devoted to the storage of food, clothing and household belongings.

With the advantages of an unrivaled climate, a free, pastoral and absolutely normal existence, good morals and self-respecting independence, it is hard to see how the government can better these unrivaled people, except by protecting them just where they are.

[graphic][merged small]

[In looking over some old MSS., I found, written upon a torn, yellow bit of paper, a travesty of Charles Kingsley’s “Three Fishers,” bearing date October, 18<>1, and written for the Glee Club of our Richmond Prison Association. I read it to Master Felix Oldboy, and then went on to tell him stories of the long months in which I was a prisoner of war; of the time when I waited out of the prison by boldly imitating the ways of the Confederate surgeons, and merely lifting a haughty finger to the sentry; and of a dismal Thanksgiving Day when, in return for a five-dollar gold piece, a Richmond baker sent in a dozen pies made with upper and under crusts, and ingeniously stuffed with sliced pumpkin which had been warmed but not cooked, and was, therefore, entirely uneatable. A day or two afterward Master Felix presented me with his own version of these experiences, and I, in return, lay it before the public.— Felix Oldboy.]

They marched us on to Richmond,

And there they kept us tight,
With the Home Guard “Rebs” to watch \\B
Lest we shoxild take to flight.

Kv Felix Oi.iiboy.

Ouk soldiers marched gallantly out to the field,
Out into the field with hearts that were brave;

They vowed for their flag their weapons to wield,

Though the flag did but wave its folds over their

The prison’s for men with its martyr crown,
While the heavy home cross weighs the women

And the days pass wearily.

Their wives stood watching them from their far home,
As they pressed their babes to an aching breast—
“With a tearful prayer that the loved one may come,
Rut come back with honor, or in honor may rest!
The prison’s for men with its martyr crown,
And God on the children at home looks down,
Though the days pass drearily.

Our soldiers lie starving in dungeons afar,

But their hearts to the dear old flag are true—
And their wives at home, while they weep for the war,
Are glad for their courage to dare and to dol

The prison’s for men with its martyr crown,
But hearts look up, though the cross weighs

And the days pass drearily.

We struggled through the summer

Until Thanksgivin’ come—
A mean day for us fellows,

It made us think of home.
I went up to Bill Barton, •

And, half ashamed, says I:
“I’d give this five-dollar gold piece

For a slice of pumpkin pie.”

He didn’t take the money,

But says, ” I’ll git yer one.”
And he started for the doorway—

I thought it was in fun—
An’ he walked right out the prison,

Although a guard stood there.
Right past the gun and baj’onet,

Into the sweet, free air!

After one hour of freedom

He came back; and, my eyes .’
On his right arm there rested

Three big, brown pumpkin pies’.
We had a glad Thanksgivin’,

A dozen hungry men,
And never pumpkin grew as sweet

As that we tasted then.

By Felix Oldboy, Jr.

YotJ want a Thanksgivin’ story?

Well, 1 kin give you one.
‘Twas down in Libby Prison,

When the war had just begun:
I’d lived in old New Hampshire,

And I’d joined the Boys in Blue,
With my old friend Bill Barton

To be my comrade true.

We marched straight on to Bull Ruu,
And in that battle fought

Till both of us fell wounded,
And that’s how we got caught.

I soon was on parole, an’ then

For a ” Johnny ” was exchanged;
But I ain’t seen Bill Barton since,

Though through the States I’ve ranged.
And I’d like to see him muchly,

I owe him a little debt;
I ain’t forgot them pnmpkin pies—

Leastways I ain’t just yet!

What’s that i—j/on—you’re Bill Barton?

Why, your hair is gray like mine.
His laugh! I know it, comrade.

From the hour we stood in line.
Nanoy, run to the kitchen

And make your fingers fly,
An’ cook for old Bill Barton

A bustiu’ pumpkin pie!



CHAPTER IX.—His Failure.

N the following day Nigel Hume appeared at the Beacon Street house, full ten minutes in advance of Mrs. Ellicott’s dinner hour. He meant to be punctual.

As the footman opened the drawing-room door a strain of music greeted Hume’s ears. Some »ne was at the j>iano, singing in a soft, dreamy voice, that song of Swinburne’s:

“Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour,

To think of things that are well outworn?
Of fruitless husk, and fugitive flower,

The dream foregone and the deed forborne?”

Hume crossed the threshold, and a hush fell. The musician arose from the instrument, and came forward into the light of the mantel candelabra.

It was a girl in a dinner dress of some rich shimmering fabric. In her corsage was pinned a spray of tuberoses. The whiteness of her skin made her look like something cut from Parian. She glided toward the intruder—fixed upon him two wide brown eyes.

“I am Nigel Hume,” he said; “I dare say my aunt is expecting me.”

“And I am Edith Fassel,” replied the vision. “Mrs. Ellicott has had a sudden ill turn, but she will be down directly. Yes, she told me you were to dine here to-day.”

Hume felt a sudden strange impulse to take to Lis heels.

“Miss Fassel!” It was the bride that Lepel Ellicott had deserted on her marriage night. “I have heard of you !” he stammered, idiotically.

“Very likely. And I of you”—with a faint ■mile. “Mr. Hume, I am glad that Mrs. Ellicott has found a nephew. She is old, infirm and alone. You will comfort her — you will reconcile her again to life.”

Brazen enough under all ordinary circumstances, Hume felt himself coloring now, like a Bchoolboy.

“I fear you overrate my powers. Can I comfort her V

“Yes, and in a measure fill her son’s place.” He shook his head.

“I have small hope of doing that. First of ill, some evils are too great for consolation; then Vol. XXXII., No. 6—44.

I am a stranger, the child of a sister with whom she was at variance; I have none of the brilliant

gifts of that precious foo “He pulled himself

up suddenly. “I mean,” he concluded, with increasing confusion, yet looking her squarely in the face, “Lepel Ellicott must have been a queer sort.”

“Did you know your cousin?” asked Miss Fassel, dryly.

“Not at all. But that fact gives me no particular regret. I pitied him till this moment. Now I sec that ho was an nnheard-of idiot, who deserved all”

Luckily the door opened before he could finish the sentence, and Mrs. Ellicott entered. She greeted her nephew cordially.

“I have had a slight indisposition,” she said. “These attacks”—with a sad smile—”warn me to set my affairs in order. Ah !” she flashed a quick glance from Hume to Miss Fassel, “you two need no introduction. That is well. I want yon to be friends.”

They went out to dinner. Hume did not shine at the meal. He was silent and shy. Though he was careful to keep his eyes from Miss Fassel, not a movement of that young person escaped him. He marked her slow, lingering smile, the graceful turn of her head, the beauty of her dazzling, ringless hands; and the scent of the tuberoses which she wore in her bosom remained in his nostrils long after he left the house. “Report has exaggerated her charms,” he thought; “she is simply a counterpart of Tennyson’s Maud:

“‘Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null.'”

She seemed quite at home in that desolate house—quite at her ease, also. And it was plain that Mrs. Ellicott adored her.

Coffee was served in old Dresden cups; and as Hume was about to make his adieux, his aunt drew him into her library, and opened a check book.

“I hear that you live in obscure lodgings, and in a very humble manner,” she said; “I wish to change all that.”

He drew back, reddening to his temples.

“Pardon me—I cannot take your money. I live quite as well as the majority of my fellow students. My wants are but few, and Spartan simplicity “—with an uneasy laugh—” is good for a man.”

She looked at him steadfastly.

“You are too proud to accept help from me,” she said; “you prefer to remain independent?”

“That is it !” he answered; and she closed the check book, and permitted him to depart without further words.

After that, he was summoned often to the Beacon Street house—to stately dinners, to cheerful five-o’clock teas, to delightful lunches. Said Parker, the butler, to Susan Taylor:

“My stomach rebels agin that young man as slashes up cold corpses; he conies ‘ere much too often; I ‘ave no liking for your Mr.’Umo.”

“He isn’t my Mr. Hume,” sniffed Susan; “I want no part in him. Indeed, I couldn’t bring myself to look with favor on the Angel Gabriel himself, if I saw that he was trying to slip into poor Mr. Lapel’s place.”

Mrs. Ellicott did not again offer her nephew money, nor seek to impose any obligation upon him. Hume met Miss Fassel constantly at the Ellicott house. Plainly, the events of the previous year had in nowise disturbed that young person’s affectionate relations with Mrs. Ellicott. She bore herself like a daughter toward the childless woman.

“Lepel’s death has blotted out all his transgressions,” Hume secretly concluded. “Womanlike, she finds it easy to forgive the man she loved, and to be kind to the old mother for his sake.”

Sometimes he found her presiding at the tea equipage in the Ellicott drawing room. Sometimes, in gray twilights, when the east wind was blowing sharp as a knife from the harbor, she sat under rose-colored lights, and played nocturnes or soft sonatas with the skill of one who had learned her art from famous masters. She had very little to say at any time to the shabby medical student, and Hume did not wonder at that. How could 6he tolerate him at all? How could she bear to enter the Ellicott house, or even hear the name spoken?

Sometimes he saw her on the crowded streets, riding in a victoria with green liveries; and one day a certain Jack Harold, his friend and fellow student, said to him:

“In Heaven’s name, Hume, why do you always change countenance at sight of that particular carriage? I chased it two whole blocks one morning, just to discover what it held that upset you so.”

“I hope your laudable curiosity was rewarded,” answered Hume, sharply.

“Well, I saw two women inside the vehicle—

one young, one old — and some fluffy lapdogs. All belonged, without doubt, to the four hundred. The younger female was a genuine Boston exotic, white as snow, cold as Arctic ice— looked as though she could successfully discuss bacilli, Browning or beans with a room full of savants.”

Hume frowned.

“‘ What nonsense you talk, Jack! That is the girl whom Lepel Ellicott deserted on her marriage night. The sight of her throws me into a cold sweat. I long to hide in dens and caves—to


“‘ Anywhere, anywhere, out of the world!’

She is a sort of relic of Lepel; and I, figuratively speaking, am attempting to put on Lepel’s shoes. Perhaps these facts account for the peculiar sensations which I experience in her presence. At any rate, I would rather face a loaded cannon than Miss Fassel.”

Harold, a small, fair young man iu spectacles, looked hard at his friend.

“By Jove !” he said, and drew a low, soft whistle.

Spring came.

The lively crocus peeped from the brown mold under the plate-glass windows of the Ellicott house. The huge vines, curling about the little iron balconies of the mansion, put forth countless leaves. Across the mall the grass was like emerald velvet, and the old, historic trees spread full, umbrageous branches to the June sky.

One afternoon Hume started out for a solitary walk in the suburbs. Incessant study and meagre fare were telling on the young fellow’s strength. He looked haggard and careworn. Jack Harold, who was just recovering from a sharp attack of typhoid, had goue away to recuperate in some remote Maine fishing town. In the absence of his friend, Hume tramped off alone, weary in body and somewhat dull in spirit.

He was a good pedestrian, and the afternoon was his own. The broad avenue along which he plodded was smooth as a floor, dappled with soft shadows, and bordered on either side with superb villas and gardens. A cool, sweet wind, full of reviving power, blew from him the sickening scents of the hospital. His thoughts were occupied with a terrible surgical operation which he had witnessed that day.

“It was superbly done,” he muttered, half aloud. “Old Bellamy surpassed himself “—referring to an autocrat surgeon, of whom the students stood in wholesome awe. “Pity that Harold should have missed the sight! I must write to him about it.”

Childless women and dogs (Google Books)

Dog’s Best Friend: Will Judy, Founder of National Dog Week and Dog …

Lisa Begin-Kruysman – 2014 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Will Judy, Founder of National Dog Week and Dog World Publisher Lisa Begin-Kruysman … who owned dogs did have children and that many childless women with dogs would prefer to have their own children, but fate had prevented it.
Empire of Dogs: Canines, Japan, and the Making of the Modern …

Aaron Skabelund – 2011 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
On the right, cuddled against the woman’s neck, is another “child of the family,” a tan and white “Japanese” Shiba dog, who … As the number of childless women and couples has increased, so has the number ofdogs.62 Because of changes in …
Our Dogs, Our Selves: Dogs in Medieval and Early Modern Art, …

2016 – ‎Preview
Dogs in Medieval and Early Modern Art, Literature, and Society … with her little dog held protectively in the crook of her arm, looks much like another in a series of women holding symbolic and real infants. … she is akin to the childless women who feature so prominently and sympathetically at the heart of the romance genre.
First Friend: A History of Dogs and Humans – Page 96

Katharine Rogers – 2010 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
drawing-room pet dog” for its lack of the “true” dog’s instinct of pugnacity, charging with blatant untruth that every small dog … dogs except “lap dogs — those excuseless excuses for caninity which childless women overfeed and underexercise.
Childless: A Novel

James Dobson, ‎Kurt Bruner – 2013 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
This eagerly awaited follow-up vividly imagines what happens when the abiding joys of parenthood are exchanged for the gradual deterioration of a CHILDLESS world.
The truth about dogs – Page 97

Leon Fradley Whitney – 1959 – ‎Snippet view
In New Haven there was one woman, a director of the Society, who kept many dogs herself and permitted them all to run … I have frequently found the childless women unwilling to have vicious dogs destroyed when their husbands advised it.
Don’t call a man a dog – Page 86

Will Judy – 1949 – ‎Snippet view
There is the old mossback complaint: “Them wim- men oughter have kids insted of dogs.” Women do not have dogs because they do not have children. Most women who have dogs have children. Most childless women having dogs, would …

Susan McHugh – 2004 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
women’s’ toys as ‘instruments of folly for them to play and dally withal, to tryfle away the treasure of time, to withdraw their … the primary targets of this sort of abuse remain the childless and / or postmenopausal women singled out by Fleming.
DOG LOVE – Page 124

Marjorie Garber – 1997 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
He describes the overbreeding of dogs “like the Pekinese and the pug, with which childless women express their need for love and affection. It is, of course, a sad side effect that these poor dogs are also usually overfed and made neurotic.
Otherhood: Modern Women Finding A New Kind of Happiness

Melanie Notkin – 2014 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
In Otherhood, author Melanie Notkin reveals her own story as well as the honest, poignant, humorous, and occasionally heartbreaking stories of women in her generation—women who expected love, marriage, and parenthood, but instead found …

First nations, first dogs: Canadian aboriginal ethnocynology – Page 180

Bryan David Cummins – 2002 – ‎Snippet view
Dogs would be able to pursue on the snow, running ahead of the quarry, leaping at its nose, trying to either corner it or … Most often these were Tahltan Bear Dogs or smaller animals kept by childless women or mothers whose children had …
Toy Dogs and Their Ancestors: Including the History and Management …

Lady Wentworth – 1911 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
The understanding between a child and its first dog cannot be appreciated by one who has never had a dog in his childhood. A dog … It has been stated that only childless women and dis- appointed spinsters care for dogs. It is true that those …
Childfree and Loving It

Nicki Defago – 2005 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Childfree and Loving It! is a broad and definitive exploration of non-parenthood, challenging the myths of parenthood and boldly proclaiming the joys of a childfree life. ‘The responsibility of parenthood is overwhelming and incredibly …
The dog: an historical, psychological and personality study – Page 164

Joseph Perlson – 1968 – ‎Snippet view
In sexually hyperesthetic women the sexual feeling has been produced by casual contact with pet dogs, and Kraft- Ebing has … In most cases of this affection there is certainly no sexual element; in the case of childless women, it may rather be …
The Journal of Japanese Studies – Volume 7 – Page 275

1981 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
The breast was given to children six or seven years of age, and sometimes to the children of other women as well. There were, of course, … She told me how she used to nurse her dog and massage her breasts to make milk for him. She opened her dress … Indeed, the nipple is very long and dark, in contrast to the usual girlish and delicate nipples of the other childless women here. She went on. This dog …
Isle of Dogs

Patricia Cornwell – 2002 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Women and children hid inside their homes, and Blackbeard began to suppose that Tangier was an island of men only. … Blackbeard thundered to a clever but untruthful islander named Job Wheeler, a childless widower who, as the story …
Between the Species: Readings in Human-animal Relations – Page 56

Arnold Arluke – 2009 – ‎Snippet view
Although there were a few exceptions among women, men were more likely to cite joint activities with their dogs as valuable. Of course, women did … But childless women were not the only ones to describe dogs as children. Both the women …
The Price of Prosperity: Why Rich Nations Fail and How to Renew Them

Todd G. Buchholz – 2016 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
No one in America ever recorded a song called “Where Have All the Dogs and Cats Gone? … Still, 17 percent of white American women are childless, almost as many as in the 1980s, compared with 15 percent for black women, 13 percent for …
North Dakota Outdoors – Volumes 8-10

1945 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Everyone says that Germany has one to the dogs, most people say that he world has gone to the dogs, all old eople say that … The famatical dog lover is almost always a childless woman who has displaced her motherly affection that should …
Childless by Marriage

Sue Fagalde Lick – 2012 – ‎No preview
“This is the story of how a woman becomes childless by marriage and how it affects every aspect of her life .

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Mary Anne Wellington, the Soldier’s Daughter, Wife and Widow. With plates
By Richard COBBOLD
About this book

Terms of Service

229 – 233

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zans. At the steady approach of the allied army, Burgos was deserted, the castle was blown up; and it is said that the town itself, with all its innocent inhabitants, were doomed to similar destruction, but that the hurried retreat of the French caused the works to be neglected, and the trains were not fired. If so, God’s providence and protection overruled the wickedness of man.

Lord Wellington had been gradually concentrating his forces upon Vittoria, for he had ascertained that Joseph Buonaparte had determined to give him battle before that place. The mock king had sent forward all his baggagemaggons; and whilst the town was illuminated inhonour of his presence, he himself was ordering all his stolen goods to be moved forward towards the frontiers. Never was there a greater proof of the rapacious nature of the French invasion, than that which the retreat of Joseph from Madrid exhibited. Every public relic of value that could possibly be carried off, was hoisted on to the baggage-waggons of this King Log. Even the imperials of his own travelling carriage were stuffed with rolls of the most valuable pictures, cut from their gilt frames, out of the collections of all the Spanish galleries. Plunder, direful plunder, of every species of valuable property which Frenchmen could lay their hands upon, from the highest to the lowest, found an easy conveyance in the long train of vans, of which there seemed to be no end, from the high hills of the Zadorra to the beautiful range along the valley of Irun.

N o powers of description are adequate to convey a just idea of the

‘ imposing effect presented to the eye of our heroine, on the morning of the 21st of J unc, 1813, as she sat upon the lofty summit of the Sierra, in company with a party of poor sick soldiers and campfollowers, who, with a few peasants of the country, had collected to see the awful battle which was there and then to take place.

These guides of the country had conducted the party, by gentle and gradual ascents, up to a height beneath which the.clouds played fantastic revels; and there, upon a projecting point, whose top was formed of moss-covered fragments, sat our heroine, watching the bright sun rising amidst a flood of glory, to look herself upon a scene of grandeur such as few eyes could behold and forget. He rose in majesty; he lifted the curtain of darkness, and dispelled with his beams the foggy vapours of the valleys. The mists rolled away, and long before the two leaders of those armies could see each other, they were descried from ‘the height, beyond the reach of cannon, but scarcely out of the flapping of the eagle’s mng.

On the hills of the Zadorra, opposite to the Sierra, stood Marshal Jourdan and King Joseph Buonaparte, anxiously awaiting the attack upon their long line of defence, which was spread through the valley of the Zadorra; whilst just beneath our heroine’s party stood the unassuming Commander of the allies, in his grey coat and with telescope in hand, surveying, as the curtain was withdrawn, the immense battle-field upon which his operations were to be displayed.

Vittoria lay before them; and in the distance might still be seen, winding along the high road, those royal incumbrances, which were never exceeded in extent, never included a greater mass of wealth, and never were so much in every one’s way, as upon that memorable morning.

What must have been the feelings of the soldier’s wife, as she saw before her eyes, in all the splendour of the nations to which they belong, the finest race of men, the best-trained soldiers, the best equipped forces that the sun of Spain ever shone upon! Private feelings were swallowed up in the imposing public spectacle; and thoughts, thoughts too solemn for language to describe, arose in her soul, as she saw the enemy of Spain and her deliverer confronted with such terror-speaking troops and tongues as mortal powers cannot unfold. She lifted up her heart to God; and, if she forgot her husband and her friend, it was only in that general breathing of a prayer for the preservation of the whole British army.

The battle began at the extremity of the line, by the attack of Sir Rowland Hill upon the heights of La Puebla. What pigmies did the little creatures look from the lofty summit where our heroine was placed! The guns which first opened their desultory fire, seemed but pop-guns with little wreaths of smoke curling over their months. But, as the masses advanced, and the steady firing of the line succeeded, then the sounds began to reverberate along the Sierra; and with varied feelings of hope and fear did the eye of the soldier’s wife witness the advance, repulse, re-attack, and success of that first position of the battle, which caused the death of Oadogan, who had counted with vivacity on that morn which saw his destruction.

Hill’s division was watched with intense anxiety, because our heroine’s heart was with old Dan and the 48th. She more than once thought she could distinguish the black charger in the rear of the regiment, and saw, as she imagined, many of her friends stretched upon the ground. It appeared a singular sight to behold men and horses falling dead before the reports of the destructive fire which prostrated them could be heard. Hundreds were seen from that eagle height falling without apparent cause. The effect was so sudden, and the distance so great, that individual red, black, or green spots distinguished masses, who appeared to be smitten, as it were, with sudden sleep. Here and there, indeed, might be seen a single flying steed, appearing no larger than a lady’s lap dog, galloping without a rider, and stopping only at the brink of the river. The smoke from the booming cannon and all the different parks of artillery, looked like small white clouds, which curled up the sides of the mountains, and did not, for any lengthened period, hide the moving masses of soldiers.

From her lofty height, it appeared to our heroine for a long, long time, as if neither side had gained any advantage. The most impoaing troop, seeming like a long line of men clad in gold, was a body of French heavy dragoons, dressed in dark green, with’ brass helmets. From the heights, these helmets seemed to cover their bodies; and, when they rushed to the fight, our heroine’s breath was suspended, as she saw them resisted at the point of the British bayonet. The gold was tarnished, the bright line destroyed, and scattered; and by two’s, three’s, four’s, and six’s, the golden line formed again, and appeared but half its former length. The centre of the enemy appeared to give way. The red-coats steadily advanced. At last she saw Lord Wellington change his position, and Joseph and his staff move off, the whole of the troops aiming at one point to reach Vittoria.

At the latter part of the day, it became distinctly evident that the victory was decided; the mighty masses of France appeared to join each other in a confused flight, while the columns of the allies kept steadily advancing.

The peasants now conducted our heroine and her companions down the lofty sides of the mountain, every turn affording a nearer view of the still contending forces; but the distance apparently greater to them, as they reached a corresponding level with the combatants.

It was night, and a brilliant night it was when our heroine reached the battle-field. She was directed to Hill’s brigade, and found her husband in the act of removing his Colonel from the scene into the village of Snbijana do Alava.

‘ You are arrived just in time to help me,’ said the assistantsurgeon Macauley. ‘ Colonel White is desperately wounded; we must get him a quiet berth, and you, my dear, must attend him. Never mind the plunder. It is, I hear, immense; but duty calls both you and me away from scenes of predatory discord, which must degrade the glories of victory.’

Immense indeed was the plunder of Vittoria. Independently of the one hundred and fifty-one pieces of cannon, the four hundred and fifteen caissons, the fifty-six forage waggons, and the immense stores of ammunition which fell into the hands of our victorious troops, the Staff of the French Marshal was sent to the victor, and J oseph’s carriage, baggage, and military chest were captured. The extraordinary exhibition of that night is scarcely to be credited. At every regimental bivouac, some chosen man put up to auction the plunder of his companions; and, had Jew dealers from Portugal been there, cent. per cent. might have been realized, even for the current coin of the country; for it is a positive fact that Spanish dollars, on account of their incumbranoe, fetched only half their real price, in exchange for gold.

Our heroine, however partook of none of these things, nor her husband either. They were engaged in attending upon the wounded, and at this time upon the Colonel of their own regiment. To them the plunder was an accursed thing; they honestly thought their preservation and glorious victory were more worthy matters of thankfulness and exultation, than any spoils obtained from the plunderers of Spain.

Our heroine was engaged to attend upon Colonel White, and faithfully did she perform her duty; gratefully were her services acknowledged : should these pages reach the eye of that brave officer, he will remember his last words of gratitude to the soldier’ s wife :

‘ If ever you should want a friend, apply to me; and, if God blesses me with the means, you shall not want.”

The battle of Vittoria made Wellington Field-Marshal and Marquis of Wellington, K.G., and raised the quality of the British army to a standard of excellence which it had never till then enjoyed.

Old Dan and the band of the 48th played a triumphant march within the walls of Vittoria, and then marched forward to other victories, to the glory and honour of old England, the release of Spain, and the ultimate confusion of the enemies of mankind.

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‘ THE PYRENEES. I new #’ – ,iv Tun battle of Vittoria was succeeded by all the disastrous laxities which the unfortunate possession of rich plunder is so apt to produce.” ‘- omqu on: arms 0.1 qu The spirit of plunder is a great drawback to the efficiency of an army. It ruins thousands; and whilst it now seemed to baffle the efl’orts of the officers to counteract it, so bold and vexatious an evil had it grown that it even became a matter of high and glorious principle in a common soldier to resist it. There were some regiments, however, conspicuous for hostility to this predatory madness; one of thesewas the gallant 48th, whose officers were ably seconded by the non-commissioned officers, in their decided enmity to this prevalent disorder. nod: ‘ Ifa fellow will desert for the sake of plunder,’ said old Dan, ‘ he deserves to have his head cut off by the guerillas, and his illgotten store divided among banditti. I hate this system of plunder. We hear of these disasters every day; and until some strong example shall be made, the evil will not be checked. Painful as it is to witness the punishment of a man who has fought bravely in the day of battle; yet, if he has fought merely for the sake of plunder, he is not a good soldier, he is no better than a robber.’ ! ‘ I agree with you, Dan. Our swords are drawn only to preserve lawful owners of property, and the enjoyment of the civil rights and privileges of a people against those who usurp all those blessings, and turn them into ruin. And if we take a leaf out of their book we deserVe to meet with their reward. To be taken out of the way of temptation is a good thing; but to resist it when most inviting is better still. Thank God, we are supported in both situations. I fear, however, examples will have to be made, or we shall have

The widow married: A sequel to “The Widow Barnaby”.
By Frances Milton Trollope
About this book

Terms of Service

308 – 312

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induce her, or her beloved Mr. 0’D.,to utter a word that might influence her; for, excellent as the connection was, they were quite determined, on this and every other occasion, to let their only darling consult her own pure heart, and nothing else !

In the midst of all this contradictory variety, Patty, while endeavouring to look mysterious to both father and mother, and saying little on the subject to either, took to hating Jack in her very heart of hearts, most thoroughly and sincerely, and she would have gone very considerable lengths, as she confessed to her friend, to plague him as he deserved. A feeling in no degree less hostile had also, very naturally, supplied, in the breast of the tender Matilda, the place of all other sentiments towards Mr. Foxcroft; and it is probable that nothing but their wholesome fear of Mr. O’Donagough kept either fair one within the bounds of moderate rudeness, whenever their faithless swains approached them. Nevertheless Patty had her flirtations, and Miss Matilda did her very best to have hers too, so that there was not wanting between them a constant fund of confidential secrets which nourished and sustained their friendship in all its pristine warmth and purity.

Having ascertained the affronting indifference of her husband respecting General and Mrs. Hubert, Mrs. O’Donagough called him not again to her councils respecting them, but quietly settled in her own mind how to indulge herself, by fully displaying to them, and to all their daughters and sons, the spectacle of her greatness.

Amongst other simulations of fashionable manners adopted by the prosperous adventurer and his family, was their ignorance and independence of each other’s occupations and engagements before dinner. Mrs. O’Donagough was blessed by having at her command one of the most showy carriages in London. Arms, embellished by a prodigious number of splendid quarterings, adorned the panels, the hammer-cloth hung stiff with embroidery of the same, blinds of crimson silk aided the glowing complexions within, and tags, tassels, and silver lace decorated those without. Let those who best know Mrs. O’Donagough, judge what her feelings were in driving to the door of Mrs. Hubert in such an equipage as this.

With care and skill she chose that hour for her visit at which ladies are most certainly visible at home; namely, the interval between the two o’clock luncheon, and the three o’clock sortie for shopping.

Mrs. O’Donagough watched with some emotion the colloquy between the servants at the door, but all her doubts and fears were speedily put to the rout by the throwing wide the door of her carriage, and the presentation of the arm that was to assist in her descent from it.

” You will sit in the carriage, and wait for us, my dears,”

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said the swelling lady, with condescending dignity, to the two Miss Perkinses, who occupied the back of the carriage.

” Oh! yes, ma’am! we shall be quite amused, I’m sure,” returned Miss Matilda.

” Pray do not think of us!” meekly ejaculated her sister.

” No, no, no,—of course not, my dear ; you will do very well I dare say; take care about drawing up and down the windows. What do you poke that beautifully-laced pockethandkerchief into your bag for, Patty ? I did not buy it for that, I promise you.”

” And that’s true, and no lie,” said Patty, winking at her friend, as she prepared in her usual style to precipitate herself out of the carriage after her mamma, but at the same time obeying the maternal behest, and drawing forth the handkerchief with a flourish that sent it into the eyes of the simpering Louisa.

There were several persons in Mrs. Hubert’s drawing-room when Mrs. and Miss O’Donagough were ushered into it. At a small table apart, near a window, sat two very lovely girls, each occupied before a little desk, one copying a page of MS. music, and the other drawing. Behind the chair of the latter stood a tall and graceful young man, whose head was bent forward as in the act of criticising the performance. He started as the servant distinctly pronounced the words ” Mrs. and Miss O’Donagough,” but did not immediately look up.

On a sofa near a loo-table at the upper end of the room sat Mrs. Hubert, and beside her an elegant-looking little woman, apparently some few years older than herself, but whose black eyes, neatly-cut little features, and fine teeth, still gave her a right to be called a pretty woman. In a deep chair on the opposite side of the table, another lady, about the same age, perhaps, but infinitely less well-looking, employed herself by incessantly twitching a green ribbon, which being attached to the collar of a poodle lap-dog, occasioned from time to time a sharp little bark that seemed to delight her. Mrs. O’Donagough had observed a carriage waiting at the door, aud the dress of these last-mentioned ladies showed that it was for them it waited, and that they, too, were morning visitors.

If satin, feathers, and a profusion of the finest lace, could have made Mrs. O’Donagough look elegant, she would have looked elegant then, for she was dressed like a duchess; nor was her daughter Patty much less splendid; and even had their names been unknown to all the party, their appearance was altogether such as imperiously to have commanded attention. Hut their names were not unknown to any individual there.

It is possible that Mrs. Hubert was not particularly delighted by this early visit from her remarkable aunt, but most certainly she felt considerable consolation from perceiving that hermanners, though affectionately familiar, were less vehemently caressing than formerly. In feet, Mrs. O’Donagough felt, and thanted God for the same, that there was no longer any occasion for it; besides, it was impossible to press anybody to her heart now, without risking the injury of her exquisite toilet, so she only stretched out one arm as she advanced, saying with a good deal of her most elegant lisp, ” How do, Agnes, dear ? What an age, isn’t it ? You would hardly know Patty, would you ? How are the children ? ”

Mrs. Hubert stepped forward, and received the large offered hand very gracefully, giving a smiling answer to each question. Patty followed after, and notwithstanding her anti-Hubert prejudices, stretched out her hand too, which was also received by Mrs. Hubert with a smile, while she turned her head towards the two young ladies at the window, saying, ” Here is your cousin Martha, my dear Elizabeth.” Thus called upon, a tall, slight, lovely girl rose from the place she occupied, laid her pencil on her desk, and came forward.

” My goodness! Are you Elizabeth ? ” exclaimed Patty, really too much engaged by staring at her, to perceive her offered hand. ” Well, I’m sure I should never have known you again—I wonder if I’m as much altered as you ? ”

” I do not think you are at all altered,” replied Elizabeth, sitting down beside her. ” But you are looking very well.”

” Yes, I am always very well, and you know I have always got a fresh colour,” replied Patty, who was frequently apt to suspect, when people told her she looked well, that they might, perhaps, be thinking she had helped herself to a little of her mamma’s rouge. ” Hardly anybody has got as much colour as I have ; I am sure I often wish I hadn’t so much, people stare so. But my goodness! is that Emily ? ”

” Oh no ! Emily still looks quite like a little girl; that is Miss Seymour.”

As she said this, the tall young man stood upright, and stepping forward, extended a hand to Mrs. O’Donagough, while at the same time he paid his compliments to her daughter, by inquiring very civilly after her health.

” Soh! you are here, are you, Sir Henry. How d’ye do ? ” said Mrs. O’Donagough, thrusting a hand towards the young man over her shoulder, and throwing her plumed head on one side, with a sort of lolloping affectation that was intended to indicate great intimacy.

” I hope Mr. O’Donagough is quite well, ma’am? ” said the young baronet, with a considerable augmentation of colour.

” Quite well, dear Seymour,” replied the great lady; ” I hope we shall see you to-night ? How late we kept it up, Tuesday, didn’t we ? But Lord Mucklebury is always so delightful! ”

While this was passing, the lady seated on the sofa by Mrs. Hubert, looked and listened with great appearance of interest

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and amusement, but said nothing. At length Agnes, who had been watching her with a laughing countenance, addressed Mrs. O’Douagough: ” You do not remember these ladies, aunt ? ” and as she spoke, she pointed to both her bonneted visitors.

” Remember them ? No, really! have I ever met them before ? I live iu such a round of company, that, upon my honour, it is perfectly impossible to remember one face from another. You must excuse me, ladies, if I have the honour of your acquaintance, but I have not the slightest recollection of you.”

” My name is Henderson,” said the lady on the sofa,—” but formerly it was Mary Peters.”

” Mary Peters! ” ejaculated the energetic Mrs. O’Donagough, almost with a shriek, ” Mary Peters! my own dear first husband’s own niece! Gracious heaven! Well, to be sure, this is a most extraordinary discovery ! And this? ” turning to the plain-looking, middle-aged mistress of the lap-dog, “this must be, yes, to be sure, this must be Elizabeth ? ”

” Very true, indeed, I certainly am Elizabeth,” replied the lady she addressed; ” but I am sure I do not wonder at your not knowing me at first, for I had not the least notion who you was. I never saw anybody grow so large in my life.”

“You are so dreadfully thin yourself, my dear, that I have no doubt I do look rather large to you;” then turning her back in rather a marked manner to her former ally, she addressed an almost interminable string of questions to her sister.

“And so you are married, Mary, are you? Well! that’s well. I can’t say I am any great friend to old-maidism—it spoils people’s tempers. I have had three—God bless me!—I mean I have had two husbands, both first-rate, quite first-rate men in their way, and I can’t say I think I should have had the tine temper that I believe everybody allows I have got, if I had

civil to say so just now. Are neither of your sisters married, my dear Mary ? ”

” Oh yes! Lucy has been married many years, and has a very large family! ”

” Poor thing ! ” said Mrs. O’Donagough with a deep sigh; ” then I do pity her! There certainly is nothing so pitiable as having a large family!”

” Is it worse than being an old maid? ” said Miss Elizabeth Peters, with a sneer.

” No, my dear!” replied Mrs. O’Donagough, turning sharply round upon her ; ” nothing, of course, can be so bad as that. And how is your mother, Mary ? and your father ? and James, I dare say he is married, isn’t he ? ”

” Yes, ma’am, he is married also.”

” And what sort of style are you all living in ? comfortable, I hope ? We must not mind your being a little humdrum, if

However, perhaps it is not quite

you are comfortable; but let that be as it may, you must come and see me ; I think my drawing-rooms will please you. But, dear me! how everything depends upon comparison! I remember as well as if it was but yesterday, thinking your drawing-rooms in Rodney-place quite beautiful, but when you come to see mine, my dear, you won’t expect me to think so any longer. In fact, my dear Mr. O’Donagough has so very superior a taste that I must not talk of comparing what he orders to anything else ; I really want you to see my new carriage, Agnes— it will strike you, as something quite out of the common way.”

Mrs. Hubert smiled, and bowed, and looked at Sir Henry Seymour, and then at her lovely daughter, as if to consult them both as to what her aunt was talking about, being herself quite at a loss to decide whether she were in jest or earnest. But she did not venture to speak, for fear of making some blunder, and Mrs. O’Donagough, increasing every moment in the delightful consciousness of causing unbounded astonishment, began again.

“And pray, Agnes dear, who is that?” she said, nodding her plumes in the direction of Miss Seymour; ” it is not one of Frederic Stephenson’s girls, is it ? ”

” That young lady is Miss Seymour,” replied Mrs. Hubert, gravely.

” A sister of youre, my dear Sir Henry, eh ? Pray introduce her,—I shall be quite delighted.”

Caroline Seymour, who was several years younger than her brother, and one of the most timid creatures that ever existed, started up the moment these words were spoken, and before her brother could perform the ceremony demanded of him, was already, though trembling and covered with blushes, close to Mrs. O’Donagough, and extending her hand with an air that gave her the appearance of being eagerly impatient to make the acquaintance.

Mrs. Hubert looked at her with astonishment, while Elizabeth Hubert, not too well knowing what she herself intended, rose also, and seizing the other hand of her young friend, endeavoured to draw her away, convinced that she was acting under some delusion, and that she fancied Mrs. O’Donagough had some claim upon her acquaintance which it was necessary she should acknowledge.

Elizabeth Hubert was partly right. Poor Caroline knew that the terrible-looking woman before whom she stood and trembled, had a claim upon her acquaintance, which, let her hate it ever so much, she would have acknowledged in church or market, in court or city, in public or in private. Clinging to her brother as her protector and only relative, loving him beyond all things, and knowing herself, all childish as she was, to be his only confidante and adviser in the unfortunate secret, to the preservation of which he attached so much importance, she

Spinster’s dogs (Google Books)

The Village Spinster

Laura Matthews – 1993 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
I’d keep him in the house if it were me. Perhaps your mother would like a lap dog.” The two young men regarded the terrier happily scratching at his shoulder. Though small and golden, the dog did not look quite like a comfortable house pet.
Dickens: Barnaby Rudge – Page 97

Charles Dickens – 1890 – ‎Read
Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up; there a darkeyed nursery-maid had better eyes for Templars than her charge; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lap-dog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong looks …
Barnaby Rudge – Volume 1 – Page 175

Charles Dickens – 1868 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up ; there a dark-eyed nursery-maid had better eyes for Templars than her charge ; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lap- dog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong …
Barnaby Rudge: Sketches – Part 2 – Page 175

1875 – ‎Read
Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up; there a dark-eyed nursery-maid had better eyes for Templars than her charge ; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lap- dog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornfu sidelong …
The Spinsters’Journal. By a Modern Antique [i.e. Miss Byron?] Etc

1816 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Lapdogs, parrots, cats, monkeys, and squirrels, passed before my mind’s eye; “ nature has provided CLOTHING for these creatures,” said I; “ and nature has appointed their proper stations too,” whispered common sense; then why should I …
The Literary Companion to Dogs: From Homer to Hockney – Page 660

Christopher Hawtree – 1993 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
By the code of all well-born dogs it is money that counts. … for the foreign mails and keeps carefully under lock and key a casket full of depressing agricultural intelligence; like all spinsters she is accompanied everywhere by an ageing lap-dog.
The Magnificent Spinster: A Novel

May Sarton – 2014 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
But still she recounted some hilarious thing that had happened that day at school and I drank it in, while Nana, beside herself with joy, tried to get into Jane’s lap. So it always ended in laughter while Jane put on a big apron and let the dog …
Anne Judge, Spinster – Volume 2 – Page 85

Frederick William Robinson – 1867 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Ned followed the dog, who turned into a small cottage garden, and sat down to feel his head with his paw, as though doubtful of the damage that had been perpetrated, but catching sight of Ned again gave a growl of disgust and trotted into the …
The Journal of English and Germanic Philology – Volume 57 – Page 260

1958 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
It has pushed out the older French loanword Ami, which survived with the meaning ‘friend’ mostly as the name of spinsters’ lap dogs and had otherwise degenerated in meaning (Kiipper). In Heidelberg, girl friends of American soldiers are …
Spinster Farm – Page 46

Helen Maria Winslow – 1908 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
And Ladybird is so dainty and careful of herself that I would rather, by far, take care of her than wash Mrs. Jenkin Jones’s lap-dog, as she does, or comb fleas out of Miss Swampscott’s Angora cats.” There were glorious drives in all weathers, …

The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 70



Using the word dog as the Turks and Persians do when they say, “dog of a Jew,” or ” dog of a Christian,” we take leave to style the lap-dog the dog of dogs, in order to mark the antipathy we bear to the most intolerable variety of the canine species. We assert with the utmost deliberation and solemnity, that we would infinitely prefer to have the country over-run again with bears and wolves, as it was in the days of the Heptarchy, than infested, as it now is under the House of Hanover, with those venomous little domestic nuisances, yclept lapdogs. The bear and the wolf were only to be met with in the woods and wilds, where it was a man’s own fault if he went to meet them; but the lap-dog is a wild-beast which you must fly to the woods and wilds to avoid, for he haunts the drawing-room and the boudoir; the hearthrug is his jungle; the sofa his lair; he maketh his den of embroidered cushions, and ” imitates the action of the tiger,” even in the soft situation from which he derives his name. More lively by many degrees is our dread of a London lap-dog than of a Bengal tiger. A general battue of the race of pugs and poodles, Shocks, Snaps, and Fidos, would be a splendid service to the public; and if the British sportsman is a patriot, this hint will not be given in vain. Hitherto, the diminutive size of this ferocious animal has screened him from the stroke of justice; but it ought to protect him no longer. The flea is minuter a great deal, yet chambermaids are expressly commissioned to make war upon the flea, and extirpate it from bed and blanket. In fact, the smaller a mischievous creature is, the more difficult is it to guard against its attacks, and it is consequently formidable in an inverse proportion to its corporal dimensions. There is nothing so spiteful as the lap-dog; in no animal in creation are all the bad passions so completely developed or so shockingly conspicuous. Rancour, envy, jealousy, treachery, are amongst its “minor morals,”—the smallest graces of its character. It possesses a forty-spinster power of malice and all uncharitableness.

To give a mythological account of the origin of the breed, we should suppose the first lap-dog to have been the pet of those three virulent old maids, the Furies, and to have followed their heels, with a collar of snakes round its pretty neck, as its odious decendants wear pink ribbons. Perhaps the ” Stygian pug,” kept by the great wizard Agrippa, was the identical darling of Miss Tisiphone and her sisters.* Or, it is easy to conceive Cerberus to have been the Fido of Queen Proserpine, and a charming little dear no doubt he was, sporting about the Pandemonian drawing-room, and occasionally drawing ” iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,” by snapping at his sable majesty’s nose, or biting his royal thumb.

We never see a lady and her lap-dog without thinking of Beauty and the Beast. It is observable that dogs of this description are actually prized for their ill-temper, for the fierceness of their bark,

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and their alacrity of biting,—the very qualities for which, in a wellgoverned country, they would infallibly be hanged or drowned. Often have I been scared out of my wits by the wicked, vindictive snarl of one of these social plagues, and then seen the creature caressed and. fondled, nay, presented with plum-cake and Naples biscuit, to reward his ” vivacity,” his ” spirit,” or his ” playfulness.”

What would the Belindas think if for every Shock they harbour in their drawing-rooms, the Barons and Sir Plumes were to cherish tarantulas, and visit with favourite adders, and pet scorpions in their pockets. I have often thought of at least trying the effect of a lapmouse or a lap-spider, and requesting my fair friends to admire its “spirit,” its ” playfulness,” the ” vivacity” of the ” dear little” creeping-thing,” or the ” poor sweet” reptile!

Barbarous as fashionable life is in many a particular, it has no more savage custom than this of turning our saloons into kennels, and training a breed of dogs for the express purpose of frightening, worrying, snarling, and snapping at our guests and acquaintance. There are hare-hounds, fox-hounds, deer-hounds, but the lap-dog is a manhound. He hunts me out of society. From one house I am hunted by a villanous Dutch pug; from another chased by a King Charles towards whom I feel an ungovernable propensity to act the part of a Cromwell; from a third I am terrified by a treacherous vixen of an Italian greyhound, whose notorious perfidy has earned him the appellation of Fidele. There is one drawing-room in May Fair into which I have sworn on holy books never again to set my foot, without a dose of Prussic acid disguised in a biscuit, to bribe the lady’s pet Cerberus, just as Virgil’s Sybil appeases his great original at the gates of hell with a cake of honey and morphine.

Instead of committing the care of Belinda’s Shock to Ariel, or any “delicate spirit,” I would make Caliban its guardian, or all the imps in Orcus.

” Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock 1″ Well, we certainly do see many a nuisance in this world in the enjoyment of august patronage, and under high protectorates, and so let it be with lap-dogs. I would not be on better terms with them if they had all the daintiest sprites in Faery-land in their interest.

Their selfishness is detestable; they engross the snuggest chairs in the room, and secure the best morsels on the table, and drink up all the cream at breakfast without the least regard to the duties of hospitality, or the commonest principles of politeness. Notwithstanding the high society they move in, I really think them the worst-bred dogs in the kingdom. If you want to see a genuine specimen of” Low life Above Stairs,” just observe the behaviour of Lady Dogberry’s amiable pet, Cayenne, or Miss Curry’s Weasel! The former is the dear innocent whom I propose to treat some early day to plum-cake and Prussic acid. If ever a dog was possessed by Beelzebub, that dog is Cayenne. He is just one little round lump of fiery red pepper, with the irritability of a wasp, the pugnacity of a bull-dog, and the animus of a musquito. He bit my toe to the bone one evening without the slightest provocation in life. By the merest accident, while conversing with his mistress, I placed my heedless foot on the edge of the stool where he was apparently reposing like a bishop, or mitred abbot after refection.

“Gnrrrllrr—gnrrllrrr—” then a snap and a bite that went through boot, stocking, skin, flesh, right to the bone. I think he has earned the Prussic acid! He shall have it, by the hatred I bear his entire race; he shall have it before the present season is over, or may the next bite of a lap-dog snap off my head.

My Lady Dogberry, I must further acquaint the reader, acted upon the occasion I refer to, in the usual way in which ladies act, who keep mischievous curs in collars to torment and worry their acquaintance. Not a pang did my sufferings cost her; not one expression of regret did she utter, except for the execrable whelp, who having pierced my foot through and through with his fangs, fled with the instinct of a cowardly assassin, and took shelter under a table, still uttering his hideous ” Gnrrlllrrrll—gnrrrllrrr.”

“My poor Cayenne! how frightened he is! he never could endure patent leather. Come, poor fellow! Come, Cayenne!” And Cayenne came at length, with another “Gnrrrllr,” from forth his sanctuary, and had lots of Naples biscuit and cream to encourage and console him.

There is another charge which I have to bring against these fourfooted pests of society. From all that I have seen and heard of their habits and practices, I am fully convinced that avarice is one of their vices, if not their ruling passion. People may smile at the notion of an avaricious poodle, or a covetous Italian greyhound, but observation has assured me that these offensive cubs are as sordid and self-interested as dog or man can be. The fact is that being frequently remembered in the wills and codicils of their fond mistresses, like all greedy expectants of such posthumous favours, they entertain the utmost spite against rivals of all descriptions, whether a servant or a squirrel, a maid or a magpie, the parson or the parrot, the grandchild or the guest. Why, I have known a lap-dog made residuary legatee! And when a gentlewoman’s property goes to the dogs, one sees no reason why a dog should not be even her executor, or obtain letters of administration.

I myself looked forward for many years to be remembered in the last will and testament of an ancient female relative in Berkshire; but I have long renounced every hope of such good-luck, her lap-dog is so keen a fortune-hunter, and has acquired such a complete ascendancy over her. 1 know I shall be cut out by Tartar; he will be left a handsome legacy, some fair annuity for life, and I shall probably inherit the family Bible, with ten pounds for a mourning ring. The old lady believes Tartar to be an angel in the shape of a bloated pug, whereas I know him to be the most worldly-minded whelp that ever lapped cream out of a china saucer, although he waddles to church twice on Sundays and once on the Wednesdays and holidays, just as regularly as his mistress, who is a pattern of devotion, but a little Puseyitically given. Tartar has just as much idea of Christianity as a blue fox in Nova Zembla, yet he never barks during divine service, and seldom sleeps, let the sermon be ever so tedious, which, I am perfectly certain, is to show his superiority to me, who am occasionally caught napping when the discourse runs.’to a sixteenth or seventeenth head. Nothing; can injure me more in the good lady’s opinion, and she never omits contrasting my somnolency with Tartar’s apparent attention. She pats him on his odious fat sides and says, ” Good little dog, best of little

April.—Vol. Lxx. No. Cclxxx. 2 M

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dogs, you didn’t sleep in church to-day, you didn’t think Mr. Drawlington’s sermon too long.”

Yet, if I were Mr. Drawlington, I would infinitely prefer passing an hour, like the prophet Daniel, in a lion’s den, than venture the tip of my finger within reach of this same Tartar, when he is at his chicken, or his sweetbread. He would snap off the nose of Dr. Pusey himself, yet this wretched little canine Tartuffe will assuredly oust me out of a good hundred a year.

And now, abominable breed of lap-dogs, whatever climes produce you, whatever collars you wear, whatever mistresses cocker and doat on you for your hateful qualities, whatever maids comb you, footmen follow you, or parsons preach unto you,—I have expressed my sentiments,—waddle off to your plum-cake or partridge with what appetites you may. 2.

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my seat, stood like a statue. The Duke of G— was petrified into a moment’s silence. Then he exclaimed in a voice whose accent of wounded pride Ishall never forget—“You know him, then, madam; and I am the victim of a base deception?” I recalled my scattered senses, and asked the name of the person who had thus openly mentioned me. It was he, and my exclamation saved me the trouble of owning that I had known him. I told, in a simple and truthful way, the exact story of my childhood, and how I had met with Montague; how ignorant of the world I was; how he had won my girlish heart; how suddenly he had left Audley End; how I had concluded him dead. “But could he, did he add, to the cruelty of leaving me thus, the meanness to boast of my love for him? Why did he desert me? Where is he? Let me see him, and he must repent’ ” Thus I exclaimed in my bewildered frenzy. “He is beyond repentance, no doubt, madam. We met this morning an hour ago, and I shot the villain through the heart, never dreaming that he told the truth. Is it £ that you, the chaste and pure, still eel an interest in this wretch? Do you know what he was ”’ “I know only that he was a man who professed to love me; that he was a scholar, and taught me; that he was a traitor, and left me… But you — what is this pallor—you are bleeding * * “Yes—I am wounded—I had not thought it so deep as I feel it. Tell me, for Heaven’s sake, that you knew nothing of this man’s antecedents.” “I have told you so. I swear it to content ou… But let me call assistance, you are leeding so fast.” “What matters? My honor—your honor is mine – has been assailed, let me bleed on. This Montague, Helena, was the vilest wretch in Europe—a man married twenty times over, if vows of love held good in law — a gamester—a profligate—the son of your mother’s tempter * 5 “Do you know her sad story?” I groaned. “Yes, and had overcome disgust for your sake, O, Helena, you have given me my death-blow !” With or without his permission I was comlled to call for help. He was laid on my ether’s bed and a surgeon was summoned immediately. The bleeding was very great and was difficult to stay. Life seemed halting between this world and the next. His high sense of honor, so quickly wounded on my behalf, gave him a new interest in my eyes; his very pride, contrasted with Montague’s want of princi le, became a virtue. I watched over him and prayed for his life.

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shudder when I thought of Montague’s fate, but the base cruelty with which he had flung me aside, and the meanness which had revealed my love for him, had effectually cured me of any tender sentiment. The Montague I had loved was forever buried with the past — he was the creature of my own imagination. The Duke could not be moved for many weeks, and my position as his affianced wife gave me a right to see and watch over him. I discovered that this man — this idolater of his own grandeur – had yet one soft place in his heart—he could love and he could pity me… This I found from the lanuage of his delirium. One blessed morni he regained his senses. He was pale and weak, but he knew me. His illness had changed us both. He called me to him. “Helena | * I sat down by the bed and took his hand. “Poor child!” he said tenderly, as he felt my hand tremble, “do not be afraid of me; I am not going to blame you. Lord Evesham was very wrong to leave you so poorly protected. But I have often seen that I am not the man you can love; and now, Helena, having avenged you, I will be generous— how generous, you can never know. I cannot : much; but you are free, my dearest ove.” I was dumb for several minutes. When I had a little collected my sensations, I said: “Do not cast me off without hearing that ever since that fatal morning I have looked to your protection as a safeguard from every ill of life; that your delirious wanderings have told me you once loved me; that your suffering from this frightful wound – incurred for my sake — has won my interest, my pity, a’ my love. Free you cannot make me, unless you restore to me the heart which indeed your pride and high principle does too well to scorn; for I am all unworthy of the honor you once destined for me.” “What do I hear?” he cried, struggling to speak; “my Helena loves me? Come nearer — no, you shall not kneel; rise, my love: I command you to rise. Have you been nursing me? Tell me again.” “O, I have, and so anxiously?’” replied I, kissing the cheek he held towards me: “but — ” “Dearest Helena, trust me, trust my love: forget the past, as I forgive it. We will be one forever and ever!” In compliance with his earnest wish, our

marriage was privately celebrated within a But I often shudder to think in what posiweek or two ; and every day shows me some tion a few more months of neglect at Deansfresh trait of tenderness and excellence in dale, with Montague’s presence, might have the man I once thought so cold and proud. found me.

Osman FOR THE Surrnsssroiv or VAGRANCY, A. D. 1650-51. — At a time when the question of “What is to be done with our vagrant children?” is occupying the attention of all men of philanthropic minds, it may be worth while to give place in your pages to the following order addressed by the Lord Mayor of London to his aldermen in 1650-51, which applies, amongst other things, to that very subject. It will be seen that some of the artifices of beggary in that day were very similar to those with which we are now but too familiar. The difference of treatment between vagrant children over and under nine years of age, is worthy of observation.

“BY THE Mares.

“ Forasmuch as of late the constables of this city have neglected to put in execution the severall wholesome laws for punishing of vagrants, and passing them to the places of their last abode, whereby great scandall and dishonor is brought upon the government of this city; These are therefore to will and require you, or your deputy, forthwith to call before you the several constables within your ward, and strictly to charge them to put in execution the said laws, or to expect the penalty of forty shillings to be levyed upon their estates, for every vagrant that shal be found begging in their several precincts. And to the end the said constables may not pretend ignorance, what to do with the several persons which they shal find offending the said laws, these are further to require them, that al

or impotent persons who are not fit to work, be passed from constable to constable to the parish where they dwel; and that the condable in whose ward they are found begging, shal give a passe under his hand, expressing the place where he or she were taken, and the place whither they are to be passed. And for children under five years of age, who have no dwelling, or cannot give an account of their parents, the parish where they are found are to provide for them; and for those which shall bee found lying under stalls, having no habitation or parents (from tive to nine years old), are to be sent to the Wardrobe House, to be provided for by the corporation for the re; and all above nine’years of age are to be sent to Bridewel. And for men or women‘ who are able to work and ‘ goe begging with young children, such persons for the first time to be passed to the place of their abode as aforesaid; and being taken againe, they are to be (:rrryed to Bridewel, to be corrected according to the discretion of the governors. And for those persons that shal be found to hire children, or go begging with children not sucking, those children are to be sent to the several parishes wher they dwel, and the persons so hiring them

to Bridewel, to be corrected and passed away, or kept at work there, according to the governor‘s discretion. And for al other vagrants and beggars under any pretence whatsoever, to be forthwith sent down to Bridewel tobeimployed and corrected, according to the statute laws of this commonwealth, except before excepted; and the president and governors of Bridewel are hereby desired to meet twice every week to see to the execution of this Precept. And the steward of the workehouse called the Wardrobe, is authorized to receive into that house such children as are of the age between five and nine, as is before specified and limited; and the said steward is from time to time to acquaint the corporation for the poor, what persons are brought in, to the end they may bee provided for. Dated this four and twentyeth day of January, 1650. Swarm.”

A woman by Louis Gallait, Jeanne La Folle, has excited the greatest enthusiasm in Brussels. From two o’clock till four every day Gallait’s studio has been filled with artists and amateurs, all eager to have a view of the painting before it is sent oil’ to Holland, to the gallery of the King, whose property it is. Jeanne La Folle, whose devoted love for her husband is a matter of history, is represented as having just entered the sleeping apartment of Philip, in a rich morning dress, with bare feet and flowing hair. She finds her husband lying perfectly still, his face covered, unbroken silence reigns around, and he seems sunk in a deep sleep. His prayer-book lies closed on the desk beside the bed, and the royal sceptre has fallen to the ground. She bends over the sleeping figure, gently raises the covering from his face, and presses one of his hands to her beating heart, whilst the other falls powerless by the side of the bed. She is eagerly waiting fozgthe opening of his eyes, and for the loving and tender looks which she know so well would greet her. She watches, however, in vain; a strange color seems spread over his cheeks, his eyes remain closed, his mouth is tightly compressed, and his hand cold and heavy. The dreadful truth is dawning upon her; her eyes are full of love, but have at the same time an anxious, bewildered expression. Gallait has chosen the moment when the struggle takes place: love, doubt, and horror, the wavering intellect, and the coming madness, all the indescribable workings of a soul in the fearful moment of transition, are clearly expressed in this beautiful face. Gallait has surpassed himself in this his greatest work. -— Literary Gazette.

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OUR readers are well acquainted with the

ition of Dr. Kin in reference to the mnklin search, as tie one man whose unheeded foresight certain information has since com letely justified. \Ve claimed for him the no attention, when attention to him would have been of use; and we have since more than once spoken of the confirmation of his views. It is enough, therefore, now to say that he has just published the story of the Franklin Ex ‘tion from First to Inst, or rather of the polemics connected with it, and that what he writes. is, so far as concerns himself individuall , very true, though we could almost wish t at the little book had not been published. We dislike tlie tone in which it wrangles with the blunders of the Admiralty, and we regret that Dr. King should be found in it saying ungenerous things of Dr. Rae. The book is not in the true, calm, Arctic temper, and contains too little of the Arctic virtue of endurance. No doubt Dr. King’s temper has been tried, but it was unwise to write a book while irritated.

The practical object of the volume, however, we have yet to state. On Montreal Island there is a caché established formerly by Dr. King, called the King Caché, the existence of which was known to Franklin. For what purpose, Dr. Kin asks, “ did an oflicor and four men of the ost crew, as the Esquimaux said the did, crom over from Point Ogle to visit it ontreal Island? ” The iron coast of an inhospitable little island is the last place to which an Arctic traveller would resort for provisions. The visit must, therefore, have had some other object. We quote his opinion on this subject, and his consequent ofl’er, lately addressed to the Secretary of the Admiralty, with the oflicial answer.

“I think there can be no doubt that the leader, knowing of the existence of my Cache, and trusting that it would be searched ere long by friends from home, would strain every nerve, before he ceased to live, to deposit in this place of safety, not only the memorial of his visit, which he crossed from the mainland for the purpose of placing there, but also the history, which he would most unquestionably have carried with him, of the endurance and the sufferings of that devoted band, and of the heroic constancy with which the oilicers had sustained the flagging courage of their men, in the speedy hope of receiving that succor which, by a horriblc fatality, had been directed to every point of the Polar Sens, except the precise spot on which they then stood. And the fact that no papers were found in the hands of the Esqui maux, is in itself a strong presumption that the records of the Expedition had been deposited in a place of safety before the death of our hapless countrymen. ‘


“ In the olficial report of the leader of the last searching party, my Cache is not mentioned, and, as he would scarcely have omitted to search it, or have forgotten to refer to it in his report, if he had been aware of its existence, I cannot but conclude that, by some further and unexplained misfortune, he started on his journey without being aware that Montreal Island contained any particular spot in which there would unquestionably be found some traces of the missing Expedition.

“ From these facts, I can only draw the deduction that, in all human probability, a history of The Franklin Expedition still lies buried in my Caché, beneath the rocky shore of Montreal Island, and that it is within the bounds of sibility that this record may be recovered, an that the discoveries of the ill-fated Exped’h tion may yet be published for the advancement of science, and the narrative of their probably unexampled sufferings be made known to the world. Under these circumstances, I feel assured that the people of England will not consent that the search for the missing Expedition shall rest in its present position. More than two millions sterling has already been uandered in expeditions, which have brought ome no tidings of the lost navigators, beyond a few silver forks and other relics, and an apocryphal story, interpreted from the vague signs of the Esquimaux, too revolting in its details to be worthy of implicit belief‘.

“ A further Land Journey down Great Fish River may be performed at a cost of about £1,000, and this Journey, if your Lordship: will give me the command of a party, I offer, for the fifth time, to undertake, in the confident hope that I may yet, at the eleventh hour, he the means of recovering a record of the Expedition, the recital of whose sufferings will otherwise be buried in everlasting oblivion. -— I have the honor to be, my Lords, &c.,

“ RICHARD Kiss.”

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Part of the Spectator‘s Review of Glcam’n gs after “ Grand Tour “-isls.


SOUTHERN climate, from all that has been turning up for the last quarter of a. century, seems the merest delusion possible. Either gople have pronounced upon the subject

om too short an experience, or the idea of its salubrity was at about by strong men, who, taken with e novelty of the clearness and brightness, jumped to the conclusion of

niality, which interested parties did their

t to uphold. What efi’ect a residence in the Canary or other Atlantic Islands, or in some of the Mediterranean provinces of Spain, might have in strengthening the constitution where consumption was apprehended, by enabling the patient to pass much of his time in the open air throu bout the winter, may be worth a trial. To send a person laboring under disease to the South of France or Italy, seems a piece of useless cruelty; for not only is the climate more dan rous than that of England, but there is t e want of English appliances, home comforts, and the presence of friends.

“ ‘ Dear me ! why do you take those things? are you not going to the South. of France?’ was a query directed to one warm greatcoat, and two cloaks ditto, which formed part of the equipment of my daughters and myself for our journey’n ‘ The South of France ’ stands, to the imagination of some people, as an alias for the Torrid zone! and yet I do atiirm, that in no season or climate did I ever experience more intense and piercing cold than in our transit to and through this Southern region, and this in the season which poets call ‘ spring.’ In our day, the Lyons railway (now of course complete) ceased at Tonnerreyand, as we crossed the high grounds to Dijon, at night, and through deep-lying snow, we felt all the rigor of an Alpine winter transit. ” ‘ ‘ ‘

“ However, we were soon over this range of high land; and, when we got to Ch‘alons next morning, we found sunshine again, with little more than a hour-frost on the ground. This was once more varied, as we approached Marseilles, by the bias wind which blew steadily oh” the Pyrenees, and sent us to our wrappings with renewed congratulations on our foresight in having brought them; and, when we arrived in that extremity of the vaunted ‘ South of France,’ we found the inhabitants felicitating themselves upon a piercing wind, which was cutting us Northcrns to the bone! becauso–‘ it would avert the mosquito plague for a month or six weeks longer.’

“ This variableness and quick change of temperature seems to belong to every region of ‘ the sunny South ‘ : its sunniest day will close with asharpness of cold most trying to a delicate

constitution. Woe betide the invalid who, tsmpted by a ‘ burning noon,’ exposes himself without winter appliances to the sudden chill which comes, not with twilight, for there is none, but with the instantaneous darkness which follows sunset, with his pores open, and his poncho lying in the depths of his portmanteau ! Th9 chances are much in favor of his pulmonary delicaey becoming a pleuritie ‘ sickness unto death.’ And then, as to hint aught against the salubrious South would be flat heresy, his case is pronounced one which ‘ must have been hopeleQ from the first, since the delicious climate of Italy proved of no avail.’ Even at Nice, so freely prescribed in England as a great pulmonary hospital, a denizen assured me that I might look for a variation of as much as twenty degrees of the thermometer between the back and front rooms of the same house ! At Naples, they told us of the deadly dan er of remaining at a certain season in the vicinity of the Tufi’a Rock behind our lodgings on the ‘ Chiatamone.’ At Rome, they rste lodgings higher or lower as the sun does or does not shine on the side of the street at which you live; and everything every where bespeaks an inequality in the climate, of which invalids are as seldom aware as thq ought to be specially forewarned.”

The days of torture and the brutalized feelings it indicates are supposed to be post, Strange stories of doings in Italy within these few years throw a doubt upon that fact as regards Germans and Italians. A book, lately published anonymously by an Italian patriot, but with very respectable vouchers for his respectability, told some frightful tales of Austrian doings in Italy during the insurrection of 1848. Here isa stor in which the Church and the Austrians are oth implicated:

” The attributes of the priesthood are made inherent at ordination, but their exercise depends on the granting of ‘ faculties,‘ these being tantamount to the ‘ bishop’s license ’ to 0thoiate in his diocese. A tale of cruelty of the Revolution of 1848 reminds me that it might be more correct to say that the sacerdotal attribntes are held to be adherent rather than inherent. Ugo Bassi, a Barnabite priest of B0logna, having joined the Milanese revolt, fell into the hands of the Austrians. Roman canon law holds the priesthood inviolate from the hands of the laity, and yet Ugo Bassi must die ! But how? The Inquisition solved the difficulty‘ they skinned the palms, forcfinyers, and thumbs (y both hands,’ and, pretending thus to have divested him of his sacred character, do livered him to the Austrians. He walked to the side of a prepared hole, and, lifting his eyes to heaven, said ‘Viva Gesu ! Viva l’Ita–’ six balls silenced him, and he fell into his open grave ! ”

From Chambers’ Journal. DAME NODLEKINS’ WORK-BOX.

OUR relations, the gay, prosperous Passymounts, did not think it worth while to trouble themselves about an old spinster cousin of theirs and ours, generally known as Dame Nodlekins, though her visiting-cards designated their owner as “Miss Deborah S. M. Nodlekins.” The Passymounts were aware of the fact, that our cousin’s comfortable annuity was only a life one; and, therefore, it seemed highly improbable that Dame Nodlekins would have aught to bequeath on her decease, save personalities, which were of small comparative value, as she was a liberal almsgiver, and, in a moderate way, enjoyed every luxury. The garniture of Dame Nodlekins’ house, indeed, was faded and antique; the spinet was cracked; the linen was well-darned; the plate scanty, and worn thin with use and furbishing; and the books, torn and dusty, might easily be counted on a couple of shelves. Dame Nodlekins had neither diamonds nor pearls, nor trinkets of any description; her days were passed in a dreamy state of tranquillity; stitching, stitching, stitching forever, with her beloved huge work-box at her elbow. That wanted no plenishing; that was abundantly fitted up with worsted, cotton, tape, buttons, bodkins, needles, and such a multiplicity of reels and balls, that to enumerate them would be a tedious task. Dame Nodlekins particularly excelled and prided herself on her darning; carpets, house-linen, stockings, all bore unimpeachable testimony to this branch of industry. Holes and thin places were hailed with delight by Dame Nodlekins; and it was whispered — but that might be a mere matter of scandal – that she even went so far as to cut holes in her best table-cloths, for the purpose of exercising her skill and ingenuity in repairing the fractures. Be that as it may, the work-box was as much a companion to her as dogs or cats to many other single ladies; she was lost without it ; her conversation always turned on the subject of thread-papers and needle-cases; and never was darning-cotton more scientifically rolled into meat balls, than by the taper fingers of Dame Nodlekins.

The contents of that wonderful work-box would have furnished a small shop. As a child, I always regarded it with a species of awe and veneration; and, without daring

to lay a finger on the treasures it contained, my prying eyes greedily devoured its mysteries, when the raised edge revealed its mountains of cotton, and forests of pins and needles. And I have no doubt that Dame Nodlekins first regarded me with favor, in consequence of being asked by my mother to give me a lesson in darning – a most necessary accomplishment in our family, as I was the eldest of many brothers and sisters, and, though very happy among ourselves, the circumstances of our dear parents rendered the strictest industry and frugality absolutely indispensable in order to make “both ends meet.” However, it was a wholesome, honest poverty, and we did not envy our gay relations, the Passymounts; though, as we all grew mp, it was impossible on straitened means to educate us so completely as our fond father and mother would have aspired to do, had they possessed the ample means of these relatives. There were three Misses Passymount, and one Master Passymount; the young ladies cultivated various accomplishments, such as drawing, dancing, playing on the harp and piano, and talking, dressing, and flirting; but as to the one accomplishment – “the one accomplishment needful for women,” as Dame Nodlekins called it — they, the dashing, rich Misses Passymount, knew nothing of it. Nay, Miss Laura Passymount blushed, and Miss Arabella tittered, when Dame Nodlekins asked them if they could darn a stocking, and even offered to give them a lesson on hearing their disdainful confession of utter ignorance. “Our stockings do not require darning, cousin Nodlekins,” said Miss Passymount, tossing her head; “we are not accustomed to the thing at all — we have been differently brought up; ” and Miss Passymount looked to my mother and myself— for we were present at this conversation—as much as to say: “We leave darned stockings and tablecloths to such poor folks as you.” Dame Nodlekins took no notice of the rebuff, but went on with her work, and continued to scold me at intervals for idleness and skipping stitches; though, on the whole, she was proud of me as her pupil; and, between us, it is impossible to say how many pairs of stockings and socks we made whole in the course of the year. We resided near our cousin Deborah, and midway between her house and ours was the fine mansion in