"Here is grass, and here is water," cried he, "and out of this spot shall neither I nor any —— German or —— Dutchman come to-night. Let go that bridle!"
Then he grasped the bridle. You know the old proverb that "There is a time when patience ceases to be a virtue," and in my opinion thattime had now arrived. I had not been so long in Queensland without learning to defend myself, so I closed with him. What a fearful struggle we had! As far as I was concerned, I felt as if it was a struggle for life, and I fought accordingly. Now we were up, now down. Sometimes I was on the top of him and sometimes I was under, but whatever happened I must not give in, because I felt sure I should receive small mercy if I did. At last I had him. My hands were round his throat, and my knees on his chest, while I felt his hands slide powerless off me. It was not victory yet. If I let him go he might renew the attack, so I pressed his throat until he was nearly black in the face, and I sat on him as heavily as I could, because I was angry, and when at last I let him go, it was not before I thought I had taken all his fighting humour out of him. While I loaded my horse again I called him all the names I thought it probable would insult him most, in case he might have any honour and shame in him, and at last I threw his swag at his head and cried, "There, you old loafer!"
Then I got on the horse and rode away; nor did I stop that night before I had put fully twenty miles between him and me.
I was now following down the —— River, towards the town of ——, which I was anxious to reach as soon as possible. The weather had so far continued fearfully dry, and the heat was every day intense, but when I was within ninety milesof the township it began to rain. It rained as if it intended to make up for a two years' drought. The river I followed was nothing but a dry sand-bed when the rain began, but in three or four days it became a roaring torrent. I saw that we were in for a first-class flood and became anxious, as the country on which I was camped seemed to me very flat. Just as I had made up my mind that such was the case I met a party of stockmen, or, more correctly, they came to my tent. They had been out helping to shift some shepherds and their sheep to rising ground, and they assured me that the place I was in would be flooded. As they directed me to what they thought a safe spot, I shifted my tent at once to that place. It was a low, narrow ridge about a mile from the river. Here I prepared myself to weather it out. Next morning when I got up, I saw the river much nearer than the evening before. During the day it rose on all sides, and before evening again I was a complete prisoner on about ten acres of land, while the water roared and hissed on all sides of me as far as the eye could reach. This state of affairs lasted about three weeks. Anything more appallingly lonely than to sit there in the tent, and look out on the awe-inspiring sight of the flood with its swiftly running, destructive water cannot be conceived. As I had but little room for exercise in my prison I could not sleep at night, and so I would sit and sing or play on the flute, and think of all sorts of things. The waters did not go downat the same time as the rain ceased, and I had it all to myself some beautiful moonlight nights. I had heard the stockmen speak about an old shepherd who, with his sheep, was camped on a sort of island, which was formed by the river opposite the place I was in, and about a mile and a half distant. He was, therefore, my nearest neighbour. I could hear him at night sometimes felling trees for exercise, and occasionally he would answer me when I cooeed. Little did it matter to him whether the flood was on or not. At ordinary times he would probably never see any one for weeks or months, as no one could have any business there excepting the ration-carrier once a week, and the shepherd, as a rule, did not see him, as he was away with his sheep when the carrier arrived in his hut. I used to speculate as to who he was—an old man, with wife and family dead, perhaps. What a sad existence! Or, worse still, an old bachelor, crusty and tired. Surely he would have some one he longed to see, and who longed for him! How many years, thought I, had he been there, or in places like that? What did he do with his money when he got it once a year? Would he go with it to the nearest hotel, and as he saw other men wonder why they were not as glad to see him as he to see them? Would he purchase their good-will with grog? What else could he do, or was he likely to do? Anyhow, when it was all spent, and he would get angry when people would have no more to do with him, wouldhe be kicked out? Would he then come back here for another year? What else could he do? I have, among shepherds, seen many men who must have been what is called well educated. They count in their ranks both lawyers and parsons, but disappointed and embittered silence is generally the stamp of them all. Sometimes the reverse is the case; then they will talk as if they could never stop. I like solitude myself to a certain extent, but it must surely be an unnatural life for any man to lead quite alone in the bush.
When at last the floods subsided I had the greatest trouble in making my way, because there would be the most treacherous boggy holes where one least expected them. I had also fared hard on very short rations, so as to make what I had last until I could purchase more, and when I started away from my camping-place I had only one more loaf of bread; all the rest was gone. I was, therefore, very sorry to hear at the nearest station that they would sell me nothing whatever, and when I came to the next one again it was just as bad. I travelled for some days in this way, and had had scarcely what would make half a meal for each day, when at last I arrived at a place only twenty-four miles from town where I should have to cross the river—if I could—so as to get on the main road leading into the settlement. It was about ten o'clock in the morning when I neared this place. It was only a small cattle station, but I thought that whatever happened I must try to get somerations here. I came along at a pretty brisk gallop, but when I was about twenty chains from the houses which formed the place my horses shied violently at a man who was lying in the middle of the road. I was, on the spur of the moment, put out of temper, and began to rate the fellow for choosing his camping-place there.
"Oh, let me lie!" he cried. "Accursed be the day I came to Queensland! I have laid myself down to die here. Shall I not be allowed to lie? Leave me alone. O God, O God!"
I looked closer at him. It seemed that he was in earnest, and the wonder was that he was not dead already, as he was lying there in the terrible sun without the least attempt to get into the shade. He was a short, slightly built man and had a terribly emaciated, woe-begone face. It took a long time and much persuasion before I could get him to tell me what was the matter. Then he said he was dying from hunger. "Pshaw," I said, "right here in front of the station! I am hungry too, but in half an hour I shall be back to you with something to eat."
He laughed bitterly. "Have you got it with you?" said he. "No; but I have money, and I will buy some up here." "You might save yourself the trouble to ask for it," said he; "you will get nothing." "Why," cried I, "I will tell them that a man is dying with hunger outside the door." "They know it. The squatter hunted me yesterday when I told him that I could not cross theriver or get further without food. Oh, accursed Queensland, and the day I saw it first! Let me lie; I only want to die."
I could not understand it, and I came to the conclusion that it must be the man's own fault, and that the people on the station had no idea about the despairing state he was in. I looked at the river. It was swollen yet, and not fordable on foot, but I had no fear but that I could get over with the horses, and I was, therefore, in a position to promise him that he should be with me in town that same evening. On hearing that he brightened up a little, but I was myself so hungry that I thought I would go up to the station and get some food for both of us. I therefore hobbled out the pack-horse after the swag was off him, and rode up to the place, promising my despairing friend to be back to him with all possible speed. When I came into the yard my horse made a dead stop outside an old stable. I got off, and looking into the stable saw another man lying on his face in one of the stalls. "Halloa," thought I, "it appears that all the people here are off their legs!" and I sang out to him, asking him whether he was dying of hunger too. "No; but I am blind," said he. "Who is that?" I told him I was a traveller, and that I just wanted to buy a few rations. "It is not you who were here yesterday?" inquired he. "No," said I, "that poor fellow is lying out in the road, and says he is dying for hunger. Surely it has not come to that!" "Iwas awfully sorry for that man yesterday," cried he, "and only that I cannot see at all, for I got the sand-blight a fortnight ago, I should have given him something." Then, as with a sudden inspiration, he said, "Are you his mate?" No, I was not his mate, I was only sorry for him and very hungry myself. "Will you swear you will give him the half of what I will give you?" Yes, I would swear. "All right! Then look in that other stall there under the bags and you will find a piece of bread, but remember he is to have the half." "Yes, yes," cried I, while I looked under the bags and found about half a pound of stale bread. "But are you really so very hard up here? Surely you must have plenty of beef." "So we have," said he, "but I have been blind for two weeks and cannot kill a beast if we run out, and the super himself is a bad hand. We are nearly out of flour and everything else, and there is a party of fencers cut off by the flood that we expect in now every day. We must keep something for them; still, that super is a skunk, or he would have given the man a piece of beef, but he won't give anything or sell either, so there is an end to it. You might save yourself the trouble of asking him. Are you gone?" "No," said I, "I am here yet. I am only looking at an old grey-bearded man who is coming out of the house and putting a saddle on a horse." "That is he." "Is he the only one at the place besides yourself?" "Yes, unless you reckon the oldwoman in the kitchen." "Could I not get round her after he is away?" "Not you; you will get nothing out of either of them."
I then went up to the squatter and saluted him. Would he kindly sell a few rations? "No, I will do nothing of the sort," cried he. "You do not know how short we are here. I have got no rations." "But," said I, "you surely do not know that there is a man lying out there on the road who says that he is dying of hunger. Just sell me a piece of beef." "Dying of hunger. Ha! ha! ha! that is too good. Why, he is a regular loafer. He was here for rations a fortnight ago, and he was here yesterday. Let him go into town. I cannot keep him."
"That is all very well," said I, "and I cannot pretend to say what the man is. But how can you get to town, when you cannot cross the river? He told me he has been lying about in all this rain and flood, and the wonder to me is that he is not dead already." "Is that your horse?" inquired he, pointing to where I left it standing. "Yes." "Well, then, just take my advice and get into town yourself." "And won't you sell me a piece of meat?" "No." "Not if a man were dying of hunger?" "Don't talk to me about dying of hunger. It is too rich, it is indeed! Good-morning." With that he rode away, and left me standing there meditating upon what he had said and at free liberty to decide in my own mind whether, after all, I had any right toexpect people in a place like that to provide the necessaries of life for travellers.
But one cannot argue with the stomach, and, ravenously hungry as I was, my sympathy was with myself and with the man whom I left out on the road, and I therefore thought I would make one more attack, this time on the old woman in the kitchen, who, during my conversation with the super, had twice come round the corner to empty slops, and who, I suppose, as a mark of the respect in which she held me, had thrown them so close to me that it had sprinkled me all over. She did not look very hospitable, but I had at that time great faith in my power to charm the fair sex, or, as Englishmen less gallantly call them, the weaker sex. I, therefore, wreathed my face in smiles and put myself into the most graceful position I could assume, while I knocked at the kitchen door. No one answered my knock, so I went inside, still retaining my charming appearance. On the other side of the kitchen stood a row of saucepans with something cooking in them, which emitted an odour that did not go far to prove the theory of want raging in the place. Here is my luck again, thought I, I will get a good meal at last. The old lady now came running in from one of the rooms—a most forbidding object to make love to! "You can't get no rations here," cried she. "Clear out of the kitchen!" Then she took up a piece of firewood and struck at me with it. How could any one expect me to look happy under thecircumstances? I knew I was getting to look ugly. Then I pulled out my large knife and rolled my eyes in my head. That seemed to please her. She now only mildly protested, while I took the lid off one of the saucepans and lifted out five or six pounds of meat, with which I made my escape. When I came out with this to the traveller on the road his joy was a pleasure to look at. He could not understand how I had got it. So weak was he that he cried like a baby.
The tea, of which I had yet a supply, was made, and then the feast began. I counselled him not to eat too much, but between the two of us there was scarcely anything left when we were both satisfied. Then he began to tell me his story, of which I can only give the general outlines as I have forgotten the details; but a more terrible tale of misery I had never heard, and any one who will fill in the picture for himself might easily understand that he must have suffered almost enough to justify him in lying down to die at last, when all hope seemed gone.
He said that travelling along he had been overtaken by the flood, and had camped by himself in a similar place to the one where I had been a prisoner, only with this difference—that he had had no tent. He had managed to keep a log on fire all the time, and had hung his blanket over a pole to form a fly, but of course he had been as wet all the time as if he had been hauled out of the sea. By the time the water went down he had eaten everyscrap of provision he had, but had nevertheless reached this station about a fortnight since. Here, as already stated, they would neither sell nor give him anything. He could not cross the river to get into town, so, in a terrible condition from hunger, he had turned back in another direction, some twenty miles or more to where there was another small station. The country was all flooded on his way, and for five miles in one stretch he had waded through water to his shoulders, only being able to know the direction in which he wanted to go by following along a fence, the top of the posts of which were out of water. I forget how long it took him to reach this place, but when he did arrive there it was only to be told that he could get nothing. Being apparently the sort of man who would bend his neck to any stroke of misfortune, he had meekly turned away, he did not know himself whither, when by good luck as the issue proved, he had fainted when close to the house. A man had then come out and given him something to eat, besides a little to take with him, and had told him that twenty-five miles in another direction was a place where he could procure supplies. He had gone thither, but as the people there had proved but one degree more merciful than their neighbours, they had only kept him alive a couple of days, and then started him back here to where I found him. All his money was seven shillings. The squatter here, as already stated, would neither sell nor give him anything,and as he saw he could not cross the river for several days on foot, not being able to swim, he had laid himself down to die when I arrived on the scene. While he told me all this, he was gradually getting very sick. The sweat hung in large drops on his pale face, and he threw himself about writhing in agony. I need scarcely say, perhaps, that he had eaten with less moderation than he ought. I bustled about him, trying or wishing to do him good, but I did not know how. I was also very anxious for us both to be off, because I heard the squatter fire a gun in the yard, and I concluded that he had come back and that the old woman had told him what had happened perhaps, or most likely drawn on her imagination at the same time. As the bishop said when he saw a criminal on the road to the scaffold: "But for the grace of God, there go I." The reader of this truthful narrative may decide for himself who deserved hanging most—the squatter or I; but whatever the opinion may be, I had undoubtedly committed robbery under arms, and, in my opinion, the man who would see another die outside his door if he had it in his power to save him, might also add such small particulars to the tale as would make his case strong and interesting—especially as there was a lady in the case. I had doubtless committed a crime which, according both to the spirit and the letter of Queensland law as among the greatest for which a criminal is punished. Just imagine how the case might have appearedin court. There the old grey-bearded super, the worthy pioneer, and the interesting, inoffensive old lady, who in a fainting condition, would tell her horrible tales; here a fat, bouncing Crown Prosecutor; and lastly the two loafers in the dock, whom nobody knew or would have believed. As after events proved, the super was either too much of a gentleman or too much of a coward, as he neither came out and remonstrated with me nor prosecuted me afterwards.
Six weeks after this event happened I was an employer of over a dozen men, and as time went on I was looked upon as a rising man in that town toward which I was now going, and no one thought themselves too good to know me. Among my acquaintances was this same super. He did not at all recollect me from this adventure; but one day I reminded him, and told him what I thought about him.
Begging the reader's pardon for this digression, I will return to where we still sat in the road. While I, for the above-named reasons, perhaps not clearly defined in my mind, was anxious to be off, and my travelling companion was writhing with pain before me, an accident happened which I at the time thought one of the greatest possible misfortunes. My best horse—my saddle-horse—got drowned in the river. It came about in this way: ever since the flood the air had been thick with countless millions of sand-flies; it was so bad that one could scarcely exist unless when sitting withthe head over a fire enveloped in smoke. The horses suffered fearfully from their attacks, and just then they both became as it were quite maddened, and galloped straight for the river. I managed to catch the one, but the other, as if it premeditated suicide, jumped right in, and being hobbled could not well drown just then, but was swept down the current and away. Next morning we had eaten all our provisions and were as hungry as ever. The river, however, was falling fast. I got on the one horse and tried the river in several places, but nowhere was it so low that the horse could walk across. I could get across myself on the horse, but it reared and bucked when the other man tried to climb on it too; as he could not ride he began his lamentations again, imploring me not to leave him behind. I had no idea of doing that, but it cost me not a little trouble to think out what was best to do. Unfortunately neither of us could swim, and as he was of very short stature, the river would have to fall until he could walk over almost dry-footed before he would dare to attempt it. I was a head taller than he, and as the day went on I kept walking in the river and trying it with a long pole to find the shallowest place. The current was very strong, but the water was falling fast, and tired out by my companion's lamentations and the whole misery of the situation, I told him that we would a couple of hours before sundown try to cross the river or die. It was a dangerous undertaking, because not onlywas the water still very deep, and I had only a general idea of it being fordable, but the current was so strong that I did not know whether I should be able to keep on my feet when I came to the deepest part. First of all I wrote a few words in pencil to the manager of the bank in which I had my money, telling him what to do with my account in case I should not claim it. After having put it into an envelope, because I always carried these things, I gave it to my fellow-traveller, and without letting him know what it contained, exacted from him a promise that he should post it in case I got drowned. It was the least he could do certainly, because as a reward I said he might have all the rest of my belongings, always supposing, of course, that I should have no further use for them. Then I helped him on to the horse, and told him just to sit still until he saw me safe on the other side, and that the horse would come to me when I called it as long as he did not pull it about. Having done all this, I took off all my clothes and strapped them on to the pack-saddle, and lifted the whole burden on to my head so as to give me extra weight. I also got a pole about fifteen feet in length to stand against, and then I faced the river. The river was not very broad—I should say about three chains. From the side where I was it gradually sloped towards its deepest part which was near the other side, and there was at least one chain in width where I did not exactly know the depth more than that thehorse so far had had to swim across earlier in the day when I had tried it. The river was still falling every hour, and I was determined for both of us to get across then. I waded into the water, and it all went well until I came to the middle. Somehow I thought I must have got to shallower ground than where I had tried it before. The water rushed round my sides, and every time I had to lift the pole and put it forward it took me all my strength to do it. The last step forward had brought me into still deeper water, and my strength seemed exhausted—perhaps it would be more correct to say that to hold the pole in position and keep myself on my feet demanded as much force as I ever had. I seemed to stand dancing on the top of the big toe while I could feel with the other foot that it was still deeper in front of me. I pressed on the pole to keep me down, but I felt that I had neither strength nor pluck enough to shift it either forwards or backwards, nor even to keep standing where I was very long. Yet how tantalizing; in front of me, just another step, and I might grasp the boughs of a large tree hanging out over the water. And must I die there?
As in a panorama my whole life seemed to pass before me in review: At home—my schoolmates, I saw them all—then Hamburg—the emigrant ship—Thorkill—the gold-diggings—the South Seas—Brisbane—all along this miserable journey and back where I stood. I turned my head and lookedbehind me to where the Englishman sat on my horse. He laughed loud an unpleasant ha! ha! ha! ha! It was his way to cheer me on, but it jarred on my ear. My heart began to beat as if it would burst. Have you travelled so far, I thought, and have you seen and suffered so many things on purpose only to drown in this muggy stream? Never! I gathered myself together for a supreme effort. I threw the pole from me, rushed forward, rolled, lost the saddle, but grasped a bough, and the next moment I climbed up the other side, when I fainted for the first and only time in all my life. When I recovered the other man had come over and stood alongside of me with my horse. We intended to travel all night, so as to be in town as soon as possible, and my friend seemed quite gay at the prospect before us. Where we stood, however, was only on a sort of by-road, and I understood that the main road to —— was a couple of miles distant. I, therefore, suggested to my companion that he should walk off as fast as he could, while I was pulling myself a little together, and that I would overtake him on the horse before it got dark. But—I had not got a stitch of clothes to put on! and I had to ask him to let me have some of his. Then he began to talk while he pulled his swag open. He had only two shirts and two pairs of breeches that he had paid fourteen shillings for in Liverpool, but of course I should have them. Were they worth ten shillings? Was the shirt worth five shillings? Iwould not get the like under eight shillings. If I thought it was too much, I might have the breeches he had on for five shillings.
I was completely amazed. Was this the man for whom I had risked my life, and as nearly as possible lost it? For whom—call it what you like—I had begged and taken by force at the station what I thought necessary to save his life? For whom I had lost my horse which had carried me so many hundred miles, and the saddle and all my clothes? Here I sat as naked as the day I was born, all to save his life, and my reward was to see him in front of me; but he had not perception enough to know that he owed me anything. The money I had—three or four pounds—I had on purpose taken out of the swag before I crossed the river, and given to him so that it might not be unnecessarily lost. I had, therefore, that, but I wondered whether he would give me any clothes without money if I had none, or whether, if so, I would have to force them from him. I asked him, and said, "What if I have no money?" "Oh, but you have," said he; "I saw in your purse you have plenty of money." Then I bought the clothes and paid him what he asked for his breeches, for which he had given fourteen shillings in Liverpool. I bought his shirt also for five shillings, and a dirty, nasty towel he had was thrown in as a present for me to wind round my head instead of a hat.
Then he went away quite happy, asking me not tobe long behind, as he was to ride half-way on my horse, and I dressed myself in my new clothes. I did look a terrible picture. The breeches were six inches too short, the shirt would not button round my throat, I had neither socks nor boots—and then the towel as a turban round the head! The horse fairly snorted at me with terror. I sat where I was till it was nearly dark. I had no wish to see the other fellow any more. But I made a vow, never, if it was possible to avoid it, would I travel like this again. But I was in dejected spirits—not, I believe, so much for what money value I had lost, or for any fear that I could not put a stop to this sort of travelling about almost whenever I liked, but for the conduct of that man. As I rode along I kept saying to myself, "It shall be a valuable lesson." Still, I fear that that sort of lessons are generally more sad than valuable.
It was now all but dark, and when I had ridden so far as to make me wonder that there was no sign of the main road yet, I got off the horse and began to look closely at the track along which I had come. I then found that it was only a cattle track, and that the horse must have left the right road without my noticing it. Then I began to run the tracks of the horse back again. But the tracks were confusing, crossing and recrossing each other so much that I lost my cue, and by the time it was quite dark I stood in dense brigalow scrub and had to acknowledge myself lost. I tied the horse to a tree and sat downalongside. It was no use to walk about further before daylight. I had a general idea where the town was lying, but I knew there were no houses or people living between where I was and there. I was also afraid that if I did not strike the road I might pass the town within half a mile and not know it. As for making back for the river and station, that would be out of the question, because it would have made me no better off. But on the whole I was not afraid that I should be unable to find my way somewhere, the question was really—how long could I keep up without food? The idea occurred to me that I could at all events eat the horse as a last extremity, but I drove the thought away as soon as it came. To be there, and look up at the horse—my only friend—and to think that I intended to kill it, seemed to me both criminal and impossible. I sat the whole night smoking my pipe and waiting for the sun to rise so that I might take the bearings of the country, and make up my mind in which direction I would look for the road and town.
At sunrise I started, leading the horse after me, because it was no use now to follow the cattle tracks, and where I had to go was through the brigalow, where I had quite work enough to do in twining in and out among the trees and the brambles. As the day wore on I came into country a little more open, but yet I could not ride among the trees. The sun shone with terrible force, and the sand-flies followed us in clouds.There was a ringing sound in my ears. I kept arranging and rearranging the towel on my head; still, I feared that I had sunstroke, or that something serious was the matter with me. The air seemed full of phantoms—vicious-looking creatures. Then I saw a whole army of ladies and gentlemen riding past, jeering me and lolling out their tongues at me. I knew it was delusions, and I kept walking as fast and, as it proved, as straight as possible, but still I felt myself laughing, crying, and yelling at all these phantoms or at the unoffending horse.
"Shoeskin," cried I to the horse, "you old dog, do you know that it was to save you from hunger's dread that I went on this journey? And now you have enough to eat, while I must die of hunger! but to-night I will kill you—do you know that? Oh, Peter, Peter! is it not strange, so vicious as you have got to be? Holloa, is that a frying-pan over there on that log? So it is; and full of fried eggs and potatoes. Good luck. Look at him eating it all. Stop, you rascal! No, it is a woman. Do you call yourself a lady? You are no woman at all; only a devil. It is all devilry. Peter, take no notice." About noon I had a bath in a water-hole I came to, and ate some snails I found in the water. After that I felt somewhat better, and shortly after I came on to the road. I became quite collected in my mind at once, and jumping on to the horse tore away at full gallop for the town, which proved to be only five or sixmiles distant. As I came riding up the street at a sharp trot I knew myself to be quite sane, but I had a suspicion that I looked very much the other way with the towel round my head and the short tartan plaid breeches.
With this John Gilpin's ride the present part of my adventures, which are contained in the manuscript I wrote to my father, comes to an end. So does practically what I care to publish. I have seen many ups and downs since then, but from this point in my narrative I could no longer lay claim to be a "missing friend." I am not a novel writer, and I could not continue the history of my life and still preserve myincognitounless I wrote fiction. As my object in publishing these papers is to give a faithful picture of Australian life, I should feel very doubtful of attaining the desired end. To the reader who has kindly followed me so far, I would say that he may believe that Australia is full of young men who, like myself at that time, travel about from place to place, and that similar scenes to those I have described happen every day in all parts of Queensland. If I have been able to rouse the reader's interest and sympathy with myself in these pages, I shall feel proud, and think that after all I did not travel and suffer so many hardships in vain.
The Gresham Press,UNWIN BROTHERS,CHILWORTH AND LONDON.
History.
The Vikings in Western Christendom,A.D. 789-888. ByC. F. Keary, Author of "Outlines of Primitive Belief," "The Dawn of History," &c. With Map and Tables. Demy 8vo., cloth, 16s.National Life and Thought;Or, Lectures on Various Nations of the World. Delivered at South Place Institute by ProfessorThorold Rogers,J. S. Cotton Minchin,W. R. Morfill,F. H. Groome,J. Theodore Bent, ProfessorA. Pülsky,Eirike Magnusson, and other Specialists. Demy 8vo., cloth, 10s. 6d.
The Vikings in Western Christendom,A.D. 789-888. ByC. F. Keary, Author of "Outlines of Primitive Belief," "The Dawn of History," &c. With Map and Tables. Demy 8vo., cloth, 16s.
National Life and Thought;Or, Lectures on Various Nations of the World. Delivered at South Place Institute by ProfessorThorold Rogers,J. S. Cotton Minchin,W. R. Morfill,F. H. Groome,J. Theodore Bent, ProfessorA. Pülsky,Eirike Magnusson, and other Specialists. Demy 8vo., cloth, 10s. 6d.
These Lectures attracted much attention in the Session of 1889-90, and are now reprinted to meet the desire of a very large public. In each case the authors have striven to put their audience in thorough sympathy with the National Life and Thought of the Nations treated of.
Battles and Leaders of the American Civil War.An Authoritative History, written by Distinguished Participants on both sides. Edited byRobert U. JohnsonandClarence C. Buel, of the Editorial Staff of "The Century Magazine." Four Volumes, Royal 8vo., elegantly bound, £5 5s.
Battles and Leaders of the American Civil War.An Authoritative History, written by Distinguished Participants on both sides. Edited byRobert U. JohnsonandClarence C. Buel, of the Editorial Staff of "The Century Magazine." Four Volumes, Royal 8vo., elegantly bound, £5 5s.
Lord Wolseley, in writing a series of articles in theNorth American Reviewon this work, says: "The Century Company has, in my judgment, done a great service to the soldiers of all armies by the publication of these records of the great War."
Diary of the Parnell Commission.Revised with Additions, fromThe Daily News. ByJohn Macdonald, M.A. Large crown 8vo., cloth, 6s.
Diary of the Parnell Commission.Revised with Additions, fromThe Daily News. ByJohn Macdonald, M.A. Large crown 8vo., cloth, 6s.
"Mr. Macdonald has done his work well."—Speaker.
The End of the Middle Ages:Essays and Questions in History. ByA. Mary F. Robinson(Madame Darmesteter). Demy 8vo., cloth, 10s. 6d.
The End of the Middle Ages:Essays and Questions in History. ByA. Mary F. Robinson(Madame Darmesteter). Demy 8vo., cloth, 10s. 6d.
"We travel from convent to palace, find ourselves among all the goodness, the wisdom, the wildness, the wickedness, the worst and the best of that wonderful time. We meet with devoted saints and desperate sinners.... We seem to have made many new acquaintances whom before we only knew by name among the names of history.... We can heartily recommend this book to every one who cares for the study of history, especially in its most curious and fascinating period, the later middle age."—Spectator.
The Federalist:A Commentary in the Form of Essays on the United States Constitution. ByAlexander Hamilton, and others. Edited byHenry Cabot Lodge. Demy 8vo., Roxburgh binding, 10s. 6d.
The Federalist:A Commentary in the Form of Essays on the United States Constitution. ByAlexander Hamilton, and others. Edited byHenry Cabot Lodge. Demy 8vo., Roxburgh binding, 10s. 6d.
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The Story of the Nations.Crown 8vo., Illustrated, and furnished with Maps and Indexes, each 5s.
The Story of the Nations.Crown 8vo., Illustrated, and furnished with Maps and Indexes, each 5s.
"L'interessante serie l'Histoire des Nations formera ... un cours d'histoire universelle d'une très grande valeur."—Journal des Debats.
"That useful series."—The Times.
"An admirable series."—Spectator.
"That excellent series."—Guardian.
"The series is likely to be found indispensable in every school library."Pall Mall Gazette.
"This valuable series."—Nonconformist.
"Admirable series of historical monographs."—Echo.
"Each volume is written by one of the most foremost English authorities on the subject with which it deals.... It is almost impossible to over-estimate the value of a series of carefully prepared volumes, such as are the majority of those comprising this library.... The illustrations make one of the most attractive features of the series."—The Guardian.
Rome.ByArthur Gilman, M.A., Author of "A History of the American People," &c. Third edition.The Jews.In Ancient, Mediæval, and Modern Times. By Prof.J. K. Hosmer. Second edition.Germany.By Rev.S. Baring-Gould, Author of "Curious Myths of the Middle Ages," &c. Second edition.Carthage.By Prof.Alfred J. Church, Author of "Stories from the Classics," &c. Third edition.Alexander's Empire.By Prof.J. P. Mahaffy, Author of "Social Life in Greece." Fourth edition.The Moors in Spain.ByStanley Lane-Poole, Author of "Studies in a Mosque." Third edition.Ancient Egypt.By CanonRawlinson, Author of "The Five Great Monarchies of the World." Third edition.Hungary.By Prof.Arminius Vambéry, Author of "Travels in Central Asia." Second edition.The Saracens:From the Earliest Times to the Fall of Bagdad. ByArthur Gilman, M.A., Author of "Rome," &c.Ireland.By the Hon.Emily Lawless, Author of "Hurrish." Third edition.Chaldea.ByZ. A. Ragozin, Author of "Assyria," &c. Second edition.The Goths.ByHenry Bradley. Second edition.Assyria.ByZénaïde A. Ragozin, Author of "Chaldea," &c.Turkey.ByStanley Lane-Poole. Second edition.Holland.By ProfessorThorold Rogers. Second edition.Mediæval France.ByGustave Masson. Second edition.Persia.ByS. G. W. Benjamin. Second edition.Phœnicia.ByCanon Rawlinson.Media.ByZ. A. Ragozin.The Hansa Towns.ByHelen Zimmern.Early Britain.By Prof.A. J. Church, Author of "Carthage" &c.Russia.ByW. R. Morfill, M.A.The Barbary Corsairs.ByStanley Lane-Poole.The Jews under the Roman Empire.ByW. Douglas Morrison, M.A.Scotland.ByJohn Macintosh, LL.D.Switzerland.ByLina HugandR. Stead.Mexico.BySusan Hale.
Rome.ByArthur Gilman, M.A., Author of "A History of the American People," &c. Third edition.
The Jews.In Ancient, Mediæval, and Modern Times. By Prof.J. K. Hosmer. Second edition.
Germany.By Rev.S. Baring-Gould, Author of "Curious Myths of the Middle Ages," &c. Second edition.
Carthage.By Prof.Alfred J. Church, Author of "Stories from the Classics," &c. Third edition.
Alexander's Empire.By Prof.J. P. Mahaffy, Author of "Social Life in Greece." Fourth edition.
The Moors in Spain.ByStanley Lane-Poole, Author of "Studies in a Mosque." Third edition.
Ancient Egypt.By CanonRawlinson, Author of "The Five Great Monarchies of the World." Third edition.
Hungary.By Prof.Arminius Vambéry, Author of "Travels in Central Asia." Second edition.
The Saracens:From the Earliest Times to the Fall of Bagdad. ByArthur Gilman, M.A., Author of "Rome," &c.
Ireland.By the Hon.Emily Lawless, Author of "Hurrish." Third edition.
Chaldea.ByZ. A. Ragozin, Author of "Assyria," &c. Second edition.
The Goths.ByHenry Bradley. Second edition.
Assyria.ByZénaïde A. Ragozin, Author of "Chaldea," &c.
Turkey.ByStanley Lane-Poole. Second edition.
Holland.By ProfessorThorold Rogers. Second edition.
Mediæval France.ByGustave Masson. Second edition.
Persia.ByS. G. W. Benjamin. Second edition.
Phœnicia.ByCanon Rawlinson.
Media.ByZ. A. Ragozin.
The Hansa Towns.ByHelen Zimmern.
Early Britain.By Prof.A. J. Church, Author of "Carthage" &c.
Russia.ByW. R. Morfill, M.A.
The Barbary Corsairs.ByStanley Lane-Poole.
The Jews under the Roman Empire.ByW. Douglas Morrison, M.A.
Scotland.ByJohn Macintosh, LL.D.
Switzerland.ByLina HugandR. Stead.
Mexico.BySusan Hale.
(For further information, see "Nation Series" Catalogue. Sent to any address on application to the Publisher.)
THE CAMEO SERIES.
Half-bound, paper boards, price 3s. 6d. each. Fine Edition, bound in parchment, printed on Japan paper, numbered and signed, 30 copies only printed, 25 being for sale; terms on application from Booksellers or the Publisher.1. The Lady from the Sea.ByHenrik Ibsen. Translated byEleanor Marx-Aveling.
Half-bound, paper boards, price 3s. 6d. each. Fine Edition, bound in parchment, printed on Japan paper, numbered and signed, 30 copies only printed, 25 being for sale; terms on application from Booksellers or the Publisher.
1. The Lady from the Sea.ByHenrik Ibsen. Translated byEleanor Marx-Aveling.
"A powerful study."—Notes and Queries.
2. A London Plane-Tree,and Other Poems. ByAmy Levy.
2. A London Plane-Tree,and Other Poems. ByAmy Levy.
"True and tender poetry."—Saturday Review.
3. Wordsworth's Grave,and Other Poems. ByWilliam Watson.
3. Wordsworth's Grave,and Other Poems. ByWilliam Watson.
"True, choicely-worded, well-turned quatrains, which succeed each other like the strong unbroken waves of a full tide."—Mr.Cosmo MonkhouseinThe Academy.
4. Iphigenia in Delphi,With some Translations from the Greek, byRichard Garnett, LL.D. Illustrated.
4. Iphigenia in Delphi,With some Translations from the Greek, byRichard Garnett, LL.D. Illustrated.
"A very charming volume.... Dr. Garnett has achieved a very interesting and scholarly piece of work."—Manchester Guardian.
5. Mireio: A Provencal Poem.ByFrederic Mistral. Translated byH. W. Preston. Frontispiece byJoseph Pennell.6. Lyrics.Selected from the Works ofA. Mary F. Robinson(Mdme. Jas. Darmesteter). Frontispiece. [Nearly Ready.7. Poems of Robert Surtees.Introduction byEdward Peacock. [In Preparation.
5. Mireio: A Provencal Poem.ByFrederic Mistral. Translated byH. W. Preston. Frontispiece byJoseph Pennell.
6. Lyrics.Selected from the Works ofA. Mary F. Robinson(Mdme. Jas. Darmesteter). Frontispiece. [Nearly Ready.
7. Poems of Robert Surtees.Introduction byEdward Peacock. [In Preparation.
A few copies of the Edition de Luxe of the earlier Volumes in the Series may still be had. Prices on application.
THE PSEUDONYM LIBRARY.
Under this title will be published a collection of entirely New Novels and Romances, neatly printed and tastefully bound. They will be specially suited by their brightness and originality for holiday reading.
24mo., cloth, price 1s. 6d. each.
1. Mademoiselle Ixe.ByLanoe Falconer.[Ready.2. The Story of Eleanor Lambert.ByMagdalen Brooke.[Nearly Ready3. The Mystery of the Campagna; and, a Shadow on a Wave.ByVon Degen.[In Preparation.
1. Mademoiselle Ixe.ByLanoe Falconer.[Ready.
2. The Story of Eleanor Lambert.ByMagdalen Brooke.[Nearly Ready
3. The Mystery of the Campagna; and, a Shadow on a Wave.ByVon Degen.[In Preparation.
OTHER VOLUMES ARE IN ACTIVE PREPARATION.
London: T. FISHER UNWIN, Paternoster Square, E.C.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
page 3: "Hamburgh" changed to "Hamburg" for consistency.
page 24: "sactimonious" changed to "sanctimonious" (to hear him in a sanctimonious voice).
page 30: "workohuse" changed to "workhouse" (straight out ot the workhouse).
page 39: missing closing bracket ")" added (... engaged as a matron.))
page 61: removed duplicate "not" (They did not laugh at nothing).
page 85: word "I" added which appears to have been misprinted (next forenoon ... I was outside).
page 143: "Kankas" changed to "Kanakas" (expected a hundred Kanakas shortly).
page 216: "dassengers" changed to "passengers" (volunteers, although passengers).
page 221: "draging" changed to "dragging" (horse in dragging oneself).
page 306: "monoply" changed to "monopoly" (break through the monopoly).
page 330: "ou" changed to "out" (A man had then come out).
page 348: "Pal." changed to "Pall" (Pall Mall Gazette).