Don Quixote longed for night so impatiently, that, like all eager expecting lovers, he fancied Phœbus had broken his chariot-wheels, which made the day of so unusual a length; but at last it grew dark, and they went out of the road into a shady wood, where they both alighted, and, being sat down upon the grass, they went to supper upon such provisions as Sancho's wallet afforded.
And now having satisfied himself, he thought it time to satisfy his master, and earn his money. To which purpose he made himself a whip of Dapple's halter; and having stripped himself to the waist, retired farther up into the wood at a small distance from his master. Don Quixote, observing his readiness and resolution, could not forbear calling after him; "Dear Sancho," cried he, "be not too cruel to thyself neither; have a care, do not hack thyself to pieces: make no more haste than good speed; go gently to work, soft and fair goes farthest; I mean, I would not have thee kill thyself before thou gettest to the end of the tally; and that the reckoning may be fair on both sides, I will stand at a distance and keep an account of the strokes by the help of my beads; and so Heaven prosper thy pious undertaking!" "He is an honest man," quoth Sancho, "who pays to a farthing; I only mean to give myself a handsome whipping; for do not think I need kill myself to work miracles." With that he began to exercise the instrument of punishment, and Don Quixote to tell the strokes. But by the time Sancho had struck seven or eight lashes, he felt the jest bite so smartly, that he began to repent him of his bargain. Whereupon, after a short pause, he called to his master, and told him that he would be off with him; for such lashes as these were modestly worth threepence a-piece of any man's money; and truly he could not afford to go on at three-halfpence a lash. "Go on, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote; "take courage and proceed; I will double thy pay, if that be all." "Say you so?" quoth Sancho; "then have at all. I will lay it on thick and threefold. Do but listen." With that, slap went the scourge; but the cunning knave left persecuting his own skin, and fell foul of the trees, fetching such dismal groans every now and then, that one would have thought he had been dying. Don Quixote, who was naturally tender-hearted, fearinghe might make an end of himself before he could finish his penance, and so disappoint the happy effects of it: "Hold," cried he, "hold, my friend; as thou lovest thy life, hold, I conjure thee: no more at this time. This seems to be a very sharp sort of physic. Therefore, pray do not take it all at once, make two doses of it. Come, come, all in good time; Rome was not built in a day. If I have told right, thou hast given thyself above a thousand stripes; that is enough for one beating; for, to use a homely phrase, the ass will carry his load, but not a double load; ride not a free horse to death." "No, no," quoth Sancho, "it shall never be said of me, the eaten bread is forgotten; or that I thought it working for a dead horse, because I am paid beforehand. Therefore stand off, I beseech you; get out of the reach of my whip, and let me lay on the other thousand, and then the back of the work will be broken: such another flogging bout, and the job will be over." "Since thou art in the humour," replied Don Quixote, "I will withdraw, and Heaven strengthen and reward thee!" With that, Sancho fell to work afresh, and beginning upon a new score, he lashed the trees at so unconscionable a rate, that he fetched off their skins most unmercifully. At length, raising his voice, seemingly resolved to give himself a settling blow, he lets drive at a beech-tree with might and main: "There!" cried he, "down with thee Samson, and all that are about thee!" This dismal cry, with the sound of the dreadful strokes that attended it, made Don Quixote run presently to his squire, and laying fast hold on the halter, "Hold," cried he, "friend Sancho, stay the fury of thy arm. Dost thou think I will have thy death, and the ruin of thy wife and children to be laid at my door? Forbid it, Fate! Let Dulcinea stay a while, till a better opportunity offer itself. I myself will be contented to live in hopes, that when thou hast recovered new strength, the business may be accomplished to every body's satisfaction." "Well, sir," quoth Sancho, "if it be your worship's will and pleasure it should be so, so let it be, quoth I. But, for goodness' sake, do so much as throw your cloak over my shoulders, for I have no mind to catch cold: we novices are somewhat in danger of that when we first undergo the discipline of flogging." With that Don Quixote took off his cloak from his own shoulders, and putting it over those of Sancho, chose to remain in his doublet; and the crafty squire, being lapped up warm, fell fast asleep, and never stirred till the sun waked him.
In the morning they went on their journey, and after three hours' riding alighted at an inn; for it was allowed by Don Quixote himself to be an inn, and not a castle, with moats, towers, portcullises, and drawbridges, as he commonly fancied; for now the knight was mightily off the romantic pin to what he used to be, as shall be shewn presently at large. He was lodged in a ground-room, which, instead of tapestry, was hung with acoarse painted stuff, such as is often seen in villages. One of the pieces had the story of Helen of Troy, when Paris stole her away from her husband Menelaus; but scrawled out after a bungling rate by some wretched dauber or other. Another had the story of Dido and Æneas—the lady on the top of a turret, waving a sheet to her fugitive guest, who was in a ship at sea, crowding all the sail he could to get from her. Don Quixote made this observation upon the two stories, that Helen was not at all displeased at the force put upon her, but rather smiled upon her lover; whereas, on the other side, the fair Dido shewed her grief by her tears, which, because they should be seen, the painter had made as big as walnuts. "How unfortunate," said Don Quixote, "were these two ladies, that they lived not in this age; or rather, how much more unhappy am I, for not having lived in theirs! I would have met and stopped those gentlemen, and saved both Troy and Carthage from destruction; nay, by the death of Paris alone, all these miseries had been prevented." "I will lay you a wager," quoth Sancho, "that before we be much older, there will not be an inn, a hedge-tavern, a blind victualling-house, nor a barber's shop in the country, but will have the story of our lives and deeds pasted and painted along the walls. But I could wish with all my heart, though, that they may be done by a better hand than the bungling fellow that drew these." "Thou art in the right, Sancho; for the fellow that drew these puts me in mind of Orbaneja, the painter of Uveda, who, as he sat at work, being asked what he was about, made answer, any thing that comes uppermost; and if he chanced to draw a cock, he underwrote, This is a cock, lest the people should take it for a fox. Just such a one was he that painted, or that wrote (for they are much the same) the history of this new Don Quixote that has lately peeped out, and ventured to go a-strolling; for his painting or writing is all at random, and any thing that comes uppermost. But to come to our own affairs. Hast thou an inclination to have the other brush to-night? what think you of a warm house? would it not do better for that service than the open air?"
"Why, truly," quoth Sancho, "a whipping is but a whipping, either abroad or within doors; and I could like a close warm place well enough, so it were among trees; for I love trees hugely, do you see; methinks they bear me company, and have a sort of fellow-feeling of my sufferings." "Now I think on it," said Don Quixote, "it shall not be to-night, honest Sancho; you shall have more time to recover, and we will let the rest alone till we get home; it will not be above two days at most." "Even as your worship pleases," answered Sancho; "but if I might have my will, it were best making an end of the job, now my hand is in and my blood up. There is nothing like striking while the iron is hot; for delay breeds danger. It is best grinding at the mill before the water is past. Ever take while you may have it.A bird in hand is worth two in the bush." "Now good Sancho," cried Don Quixote, "let alone thy proverbs; if once thou beginnest, I must give thee over. Canst thou not speak as other folks do, and not after such a tedious, round-about manner? How often have I told thee of this? Mind what I tell you; I am sure you will be the better for it." "It is an unlucky trick I have got," replied Sancho; "I cannot bring you in three words to the purpose without a proverb, nor bring you any proverb but what I think to the purpose; but I will mend, if I can." And so they went on direct towards their own village.
Of the ominous accidents that crossed Don Quixote as he entered his village; with other transactions that illustrate and adorn this memorable history.
Whenthey were entering the village, Don Quixote observed two little boys contesting together in an adjoining field; and one said to the other, "Never fret thy gizzard about it: for thou shalt never see her whilst thou hast breath in thy body." Don Quixote overhearing this, "Sancho," said he, "did you mind the boy's words, Thou shalt never see her while thou hast breath in thy body?" "Well," answered Sancho, "and what is the great business, though the boy did say so?" "How!" replied Don Quixote, "dost thou not perceive that, applying the words to my affairs, they plainly imply that I shall never see my Dulcinea?" Sancho was about to answer again, but was hindered by a full cry of hounds and horsemen pursuing a hare, which was put so hard to her shifts that she came and squatted down for shelter just at Dapple's feet. Immediately Sancho laid hold of her without difficulty, and presented her to Don Quixote; but he, with a dejected look, refusing the present, cried out aloud, "An ill omen—an ill omen; a hare runs away, hounds pursue her, and Dulcinea appears not!" "You are a strange man," quoth Sancho, "to regard such trumperies; nay, I have heard you yourself, my dear master, say that all such Christians as troubled their heads with these fortune-telling follies were neither better nor worse than downright numskulls; so let us even leave these things as we found them, and get home as fast as we can."
By this time the sportsmen were come up, and demanding their game, Don Quixote delivered them their hare. They passed on, and just at their coming into the town they perceived the curate and the bachelor Carrasco, repeating their breviary in a small field adjoining. The curate and the bachelor, presently knowing their old friends, ran to meet them with open arms; and while DonQuixote alighted and returned their embraces, the boys, who are ever so quick-sighted that nothing can escape their eyes, presently spying the ass, came running and flocking about them: "Oh!" cried they to one another, "look you here, boys; here is Gaffer Sancho Panza's ass as fine as a lady; and Don Quixote's beast leaner than ever!" With that, they ran whooping and hollowing about them through the town; while the two adventurers, attended by the curate and the bachelor, moved towards Don Quixote's house, where they were received at the door by his housekeeper and his niece, who had already got notice of their arrival. The news having also reached Teresa Panza, Sancho's wife, she came running half naked, with her hair about her ears, to see him; leading by the hand all the way her daughter Sanchica, who hardly wanted to be tugged along. But when she found that her husband looked a little short of the state of a governor, "Mercy on me!" quoth she, "what is the meaning of this, husband? You look as though you had come all the way on foot, and tired off your legs too! Why, you come liker a shark than a governor." "Mum, Teresa," quoth Sancho; "it is not all gold that glisters; and every man was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. First let us go home, and then I will tell thee wonders. I have taken care of the main chance. Money I have, and I came honestly by it, without wronging any body." "Hast got money, old boy? Nay, then, it is well enough, no matter which way; let it come by hook or by crook, it is but what your betters have done before you." At the same time Sanchica, hugging her father, asked him what he had brought her home; for she had gaped for him as the flowers do for the dew in May. Thus Sancho, leading Dapple by the halter on one side, his wife taking him by the arm on the other, away they went together to his cottage, leaving Don Quixote at his own house, under the care of his niece and housekeeper, with the curate and bachelor to keep him company.
Don Quixote took the two last aside at once, and, without mincing the matter, gave them an account of his defeat, and the obligation he lay under of being confined to his village for a year, which, like a true knight-errant, he was resolved punctually to observe. He added, that he intended to pass that interval of time in the innocent functions of a pastoral life; and therefore he would immediately commence shepherd, and entertain himself solitarily in fields and woods; and begged, if business of greater importance were not an obstruction, that they would both please to be his companions, assuring them he would furnish them with such a number of sheep as might entitle them to such a profession. He also told them that he had already in a manner fitted them for the undertaking; for he had provided them all with names the most pastoral in the world.
They were struck with amazement at this new strain of folly;but considering it might be a means of keeping him at home, and hoping at the same time that, within the year, he might be cured of his knight-errantry, they came into his pastoral scheme, and, greatly applauding it, freely offered their company in the design. "We shall live the most pleasant life imaginable," said Samson Carrasco; "for, as every body knows, I am a most celebrated poet, and I will write pastorals in abundance. Sometimes, too, I may raise my strain, as occasion offers, to divert us as we range the groves and plains. But one thing, gentlemen, we must not forget: it is absolutely necessary that each of us choose a name for the shepherdess he means to celebrate in his lays; nor must we forget the ceremony used by the shepherds, of writing, carving, notching, or engraving on every tree the names of such shepherdesses, though the bark be ever so hard." "You are very much in the right," replied Don Quixote; "though, for my part, I need not be at the trouble of devising a name for any imaginary shepherdess, being already captivated by the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso—the nymph of these streams, the ornament of these meads, the primrose of beauty, the cream of gentleness, and, in short, the proper subject of all the praises that hyperbolical eloquence can bestow." "We grant all this," said the curate; "but we, who cannot pretend to such perfections, must make it our business to find out some shepherdesses of a lower stamp, and be content." "We shall find enough, I will warrant you," replied Carrasco; "and though we meet with none, yet will we give those very names we find in books—such as Phyllis, Amaryllis, Chloe, Diana, Florinda, Chloris, Galatea, and a thousand more, which are to be disposed of publicly in the open market; and when we have purchased them, they are our own. Besides, if my shepherdess be called Anne, I will name her in my verses Anarda; if Frances, I will call her Francenia; and if Lucy be her name, then Lucinda shall be my shepherdess; and so forth. And, if Sancho Panza will make one of our fraternity, he may celebrate his wife Teresa by the name of Teresania." Don Quixote could not forbear smiling at the turn given to that name. The curate again applauded his laudable resolution, and repeated his offer of bearing him company all the time that his other employment would allow him; and then they took their leave, giving him all the good advice that they thought might conduce to his health and welfare.
No sooner were the curate and the bachelor gone, than the housekeeper and niece, who, according to custom, had been listening to all their discourse, came both upon Don Quixote. "Bless me, uncle," cried the niece, "what is here to do! What new maggot is got into your head! When we thought you were come to stay at home, and live like a sober, honest gentleman in your own house, are you hankering after new inventions, and running a wool-gathering after sheep, forsooth? By my troth,sir, you are somewhat of the latest. The corn is too old to make oaten pipes of." "Ah! sir," quoth the housekeeper, "how will your worship be able to endure the summer's sun and the winter's frost in the open fields? And then the howlings of the wolves, Heaven bless us! Pray, good sir, do not think of it; it is a business fit for nobody but those that are bred and born to it, and as strong as horses. Let the worst come to the worst, better be a knight-errant still than a keeper of sheep. Be ruled by me; stay at home, look after your concerns, go often to confession, do good to the poor; and, if aught goes ill with you, let it lie at my door." "Good girls," said Don Quixote, "hold your prating: I know best what I have to do. Do not trouble your heads; whether I be a knight-errant or an errant-shepherd, you shall always find that I will provide for you."
The niece and maid, who, without doubt, were good-natured creatures, made no answer, but brought him something to eat, and tended him with all imaginable care.
How Don Quixote fell sick, made his last will, and died.
Asall human things, especially the lives of men, are transitory, their very beginnings being but steps to their dissolution; so Don Quixote, who was no way exempted from the common fate, was snatched away by death when he least expected it. He was seized with a violent fever that confined him to his bed for six days, during all which time his good friends, the curate, bachelor, and barber, came often to see him, and his trusty squire Sancho Panza never stirred from his bed-side.
They conjectured that his sickness proceeded only from the regret of his defeat, and his being disappointed of Dulcinea's disenchantment; and accordingly they left nothing unessayed to divert him. The bachelor begged him to pluck up a good heart, and rise, that they might begin their pastoral life; telling him, that he had already written an eclogue to that purpose, not inferior to those of Sanazaro; and that he had bought, with his own money, of a shepherd of Quintanar, two famous dogs to watch their flock, the one called Barcino, and the other Butron; but this had no effect on Don Quixote, for he still continued dejected. A physician was sent for, who, upon feeling his pulse, did not very well like it; and therefore desired him of all things to provide for his soul's health, for that of his body was in a dangerous condition. Don Quixote heard this with much more temper than those about him; for his niece, his housekeeper, and his squire, fell a weeping as bitterly as if he had been laid out already. The physician was of opinion that mere melancholy and vexation had brought himto his approaching end. Don Quixote desired them to leave him a little, because he found himself inclined to rest; they retired, and he had a hearty sleep of about six hours, which the maid and niece were afraid had been his last.
At length he awaked, and, with a loud voice, "Praised be the Almighty," cried he, "for this great benefit he has vouchsafed to me!" The niece, hearkening very attentively to these words of her uncle, and finding more sense in them than there was in his usual talk, at least since he had fallen ill; "What do you say, sir?" said she; "has any thing extraordinary happened? What mercies are these you mention?" "Mercies," answered he, "that Heaven has this moment vouchsafed to shew me, in spite of all my iniquities. My judgment is returned, clear and undisturbed, and that cloud of ignorance is now removed which the continual reading of those books of knight-errantry had cast over my understanding. I am only sorry the discovery happens so late, when I want time to make amends by those studies that should enlighten my soul, and prepare me for futurity. I find, niece, my end approaches; but I would have it such, that though my life has got me the character of a madman, I may deserve a better at my death. Dear child," continued he, "send for my honest friend the curate, the bachelor Carrasco, and Master Nicholas the barber; for I intend to make my confession and my will." His niece was saved the trouble of sending, for presently they all three came in; which Don Quixote perceiving, "My good friends," said he, "I have happy news to tell you; I am no longer Don Quixote de la Mancha, but Alonzo Quixano, the same whom the world, for his fair behaviour, has been formerly pleased to callthe Good. I now declare myself an enemy to Amadis de Gaul, and his whole generation; all foolish stories of knight-errantry I detest. I have a true sense of the danger of reading them, and of all my past follies; and, through Heaven's mercy and my own experience, I abhor them." His three friends were not a little surprised to hear him talk at this rate, and concluded some new frenzy had possessed him. "What now?" said Samson to him: "what is all this to the purpose, Sigñor Don Quixote? We have just had the news that the Lady Dulcinea is disenchanted; and now we are upon the point of turning shepherds, to sing, and live like princes, you are dwindled down to a hermit!"
"No more of that, I beseech you," replied Don Quixote; "all the use I shall make of these follies at present is to heighten my repentance; and though they have hitherto proved prejudicial, yet, by the assistance of Heaven, they may turn to my advantage at my death: I find it comes fast upon me; therefore, pray, gentlemen, let us be serious. I want a priest to receive my confession, and a scrivener to draw up my will. There is no trifling at a time like this; and therefore, pray let the scrivener be sent for, while Mr. Curate prepares me by confession."
Don Quixote's words put them all into such wonder, that they stood gazing upon one another; they thought they had reason to doubt of the return of his understanding, and yet they could not help believing him. They were also apprehensive he was near the point of death, considering the sudden recovery of his intellects; and he delivered himself after that with so much sense, discretion, and piety, and shewed himself so resigned to the will of Heaven, that they made no scruple to believe him restored to his perfect judgment at last. The curate thereupon cleared the room of all the company but himself and Don Quixote, and then confessed him. In the meantime the bachelor ran for the scrivener, and presently brought him with him; and Sancho Panza, being informed by the bachelor how ill his master was, and finding his niece and housekeeper all in tears, began to make a sad face and fall a-crying. The curate, having heard the sick man's confession, came out and told them that the good Alonzo Quixano was very near his end, and certainly in his senses; and therefore they had best go in that he might make his will. These dismal tidings opened the sluices of the housekeeper's, the niece's, and the good squire's swollen eyes, so that a whole inundation of tears burst out of those flood-gates, and a thousand sighs from their hearts; for, indeed, either as Alonzo Quixano, or as Don Quixote de la Mancha, as it has been observed, the sick gentleman had always shewed himself such a good-natured man, and of so agreeable a behaviour, that he was not only beloved by his family, but by every one that knew him.
The scrivener, with the rest of the company, then went into the chamber; and the preamble and former part of the will being drawn, and the testator having recommended his soul to Heaven and bequeathed his body to the earth, according to custom, he came to the legacies, as follows:
"Item, I give and bequeath to Sancho Panza, whom in my madness I made my squire, whatever money he has or may have of mine in his hands: and whereas there are reckonings and accounts to be adjusted between us, for what he has received and disbursed, my will and pleasure is, that whatever may remain due to me, which can be but small, be enjoyed by him as my free gift, without any let or molestation; and much good may it do him. And as he was, through my means, made governor of an island, I would now, in my right senses, give him the government of a kingdom, were it in my power, in consideration of his integrity and faithfulness. And now, my friend," said he, turning to Sancho, "pardon me that I have brought upon thee, as well as myself, the scandal of madness, by drawing thee into my own errors, and persuading thee that there have been and still are knights-errant in the world." "Woe's me, my dear master's worship!" cried Sancho, all in tears, "do not die this time, but even take my counsel, and live on many years. For shame,sir, do not give way to sluggishness, but get out of your doleful dumps, and rise. Is this a time to lie groaning a-bed, when we should be in the fields, in our shepherds' clothing, as we had resolved? Ten to one but behind some bush, or under some hedge, we may find the Lady Madam Dulcinea, stript of her enchanted rags, and as fine as a queen. Mayhaps you take it to heart that you were unhorsed and a little crupper-scratched the other day; but if that be all, lay the blame upon me, and say it was my fault in not girting Rozinante tight enough. You know, too, there is nothing more common in your errantry-books than for the knights to be every foot jostled out of the saddle. There is nothing but ups and downs in this world, and he that is down to-day may be up to-morrow." "Even so," said Samson, "honest Sancho has a right notion of the matter." "Soft and fair, gentlemen," replied Don Quixote; "never look for birds of this year in the nests of the last: I was mad, but now I am in my right senses; I was once Don Quixote de la Mancha, but I am now (as I said before) the plain Alonzo Quixano; and I hope the sincerity of my words, and my repentance, may restore me to the same esteem you have had for me before; and so, Mr. Scrivener, pray go on."
"Item, I constitute and appoint Antonia Quixano, my niece here present, sole heiress of all my estate, real and personal, after all my just debts and legacies, bequeathed by these presents, shall have been paid, satisfied, and deducted, out of the best of my goods and chattels; and the first of that kind to be discharged shall be the salary due to my housekeeper, together with twenty ducats over and above her wages; which said sum I leave and bequeath her to buy her mourning.
"Item, I appoint Mr. Curate, and Mr. Samson Carrasco, the bachelor, here present, to be the executors of this my last will and testament.
"Item, It is my will, that if my niece Antonia Quixano be inclinable to marry, it be with none but a person who, upon strict inquiry, shall be found never to have read a book of knight-errantry in his life; and in case it appears that he has been conversant in such books, and that she persists in her resolution to marry him, she is then to forfeit all right and title to my bequest, which, in such a case, my executors are hereby empowered to dispose of to pious uses, as they shall think most proper."
Having finished the will, he fell into a swooning fit. All the company were troubled and alarmed, and ran to his assistance. However he came to himself at last; but relapsed into the like fits almost every hour, for the space of three days that he lived after he had made his will.
In short, Don Quixote's last day came, after he had made those preparations for death which good Christians ought to do; and, by many fresh and weighty arguments, shewed his abhorrenceof books of knight-errantry. The scrivener, who was by, protested he had never read in any books of that kind of any knight-errant who ever died in his bed so quietly, and like a good Christian, as Don Quixote did. When the curate perceived that he was dead, he desired the scrivener to give him a certificate how Alonzo Quixano, commonly calledthe Good, and sometimes known by the name of Don Quixote de la Mancha, was departed out of this life into another, and died a natural death. This he desired, lest any other author but Cid Hamet Benengeli should take occasion to raise him from the dead, and presume to write endless histories of his pretended adventures.
Thus died that ingenious gentleman, Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose native place Cid Hamet has not thought fit directly to mention, with design that all the towns and villages in La Mancha should contend for the honour of giving him birth, as the seven cities of Greece did for Homer. We shall omit Sancho's lamentations, and those of the niece and the housekeeper, as also several epitaphs that were made for his tomb, and will only give you this, which the bachelor Carrasco caused to be put over it:
The body of a knight lies here,So brave, that, to his latest breath,Immortal glory was his care,And made him triumph over death.Nor has his death the world deceivedLess than his wondrous life surprised;For if he like a madman lived,At least he like a wise one died.
The body of a knight lies here,So brave, that, to his latest breath,Immortal glory was his care,And made him triumph over death.Nor has his death the world deceivedLess than his wondrous life surprised;For if he like a madman lived,At least he like a wise one died.
The body of a knight lies here,So brave, that, to his latest breath,Immortal glory was his care,And made him triumph over death.Nor has his death the world deceivedLess than his wondrous life surprised;For if he like a madman lived,At least he like a wise one died.
The body of a knight lies here,So brave, that, to his latest breath,Immortal glory was his care,And made him triumph over death.
Nor has his death the world deceivedLess than his wondrous life surprised;For if he like a madman lived,At least he like a wise one died.
Finis.
LONDON:PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FRANKLYN,Great New Street, Fetter Lane.
RECENTLY PUBLISHED BYJAMES BURNS, 17 PORTMAN STREET, PORTMAN SQUARE.
Select Library.Volumes published.
I. TALES of FEMALE HEROISM; Illustrated by Warren. 3s.; half morocco, 4s.6d.
II. STORIES of the CRUSADES, supplying, in a pleasing and popular form, a Historical View of the Period; with Frontispiece by Selous, and 2 plans, 3s.6d.; half-morocco, 5s.
III. DON QUIXOTE—divested of Cumbrous Matter, and Revised for General Reading; with Sketch of Life and Writings of Cervantes; Illustrated by Warren. Cloth, 6s.; half-morocco, 7s.6d.
IV. A POPULAR HISTORY of the FRENCH REVOLUTION, from its rise down to the Battle of Waterloo; comprising a complete Account of the Career of Napoleon Bonaparte. Cloth, 5s.6d.; half-morocco, 6s.6d.To be published January 1st.
Among other Works which will speedily appear are the following:—
1. TALES of ADVENTURE by SEA and LAND. (Nearly Ready.)
2. SELECT PLAYS of SHAKSPEARE. Edited by the Rev. A. J. Howell.
3. THE LIFE of SAMUEL JOHNSON, in one vol., by the Rev. J. F. Russell. (In the Press, and Nearly Ready.)
4. ROBINSON CRUSOE, a New Edition, with Introduction, Notes, &c. Edited by the same.
5. FROISSART'S CHRONICLES, condensed. 2 vols. (in the press.)
6. A POPULAR COMPENDIUM of MODERN HISTORY.
7. STORIES from HERODOTUS.
8. A MANUAL of ARCHITECTURE.
9. THE BRITISH ESSAYISTS—Spectator,Tatler,Rambler, &c.—a Selection of the best Papers, arranged on a novel and popular plan.
10. TALES from the ARABIAN NIGHTS. (In the press.)
11. PRIDEAUX'S LIFE of MOHAMMED, amplified, so as to present a comprehensive History of Mohammedanism.
12. STRUTT'S SPORTS and PASTIMES, condensed, and illustrated with copious Notes from Brand and other eminent Antiquaries.
&c. &c. &c.
Under the title of "Select Library" it is proposed to publish a Series of Works upon such a plan as may remove all difficulty on the part of Parents and Tutors as to what books of an instructive and entertaining character they may, without hesitation, place in the hands of those in whose moral as well as intellectual training they are most deeply interested.
1. It cannot be denied that much of the Standard Literature of England, though beautiful for the most part in style, elevated in sentiment, and generally moral in its tendency, is yet defaced, and rendered unfit for the promiscuous reading of youth, by the not unfrequent occurrence of passages of an objectionable kind. Many of our most celebrated works have thus been hitherto withheld from our children, from an apprehension that the mental benefit to be derived from their perusal must be purchased at the costly sacrifice of a high tone of moral thought and feeling, which is but too likely to accrue from an unguarded use of them. All pertaining to intellect and its development is to be valued; but it is worth nothing compared with morals. One object, then, of the "Select Library" will be to send forth editions of some of our best writers thus corrected. And in all the cases which we contemplate, it is satisfactory to find that this can be done without at all injuring their real value. Indeed, a judicious revision will not seldom remedy that prolixity and occasional heaviness which the young so often complain of in our older writers.
2. Further: there are many works which, apart from their high price, it would be injudicious to place in the hands of the young, on account of their great length. The junior student would be deterred from reading such books as Froissart's or Hollinshed's Chronicles, were he required to master the whole of them. Their extreme value, as the best sources whence our nation's history may be derived, is on this accountlost to him. It is, therefore, most desirable that works of this character should be placed within his reach, judiciously and invitingly compressed; not, indeed, in such a way as to destroy the distinctive character of the work itself, but so as to present the whole substance of it, divested of those portions which are not an essential part of its entireness. This, also, our "Library" proposes to do.
3. Original works, on popular and useful subjects, will from time to time be added.
It will be seen from the above outline, that the Works, though primarily purposed for the young, will yet be suitable to a large number of older Readers, especially in the middle and lower classes; and it is expected that they will be found useful for Lending-Libraries, School-Libraries, Prizes, &c. &c.
The "Select Library" will appear at short intervals, in volumes of a duodecimo size, bound in cloth, each of which will be purchaseable by itself. The price will vary with the thickness of the volumes; but will be made as moderate as is consistent with proper editorial care, good typography, and a due proportion of embellishment.
BURNS' ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE and SCRAP BOOK of ENGRAVINGS for 1847: a Descriptive List of Works in General Literature, suited for Drawing-room Books, Presents, &c., accompanied withSpecimensof the Engravings contained in each volume. The Catalogue is printed in small 4to., on fine hot-pressed paper, and is itself an Ornamental Book. It contains forty-three Designs executed in the best style of Wood Engraving, which will be found suitable for Scrap Books, &c.
N.B. The price (4s.) is deducted to purchasers to the amount of Two pounds.
Elegant Gifts.
Fcp. 8vo., with numerous Illustrations on Wood, by the best Artists.
THE TALES AND ROMANCES of the Baron de la Motte Fouqué.
N.B. These inimitable fictions may now be had in New and Improved Editions, chastely bound in half-morocco, marbled edges, at little more than the price in cloth.
1.THE FOUR SEASONS, Undine, Sintram, &c., entirely re-translated, and with 30 wood-engravings, hf. mor.,12s.2.ROMANTIC FICTION,half morocco,8s.3.WILD LOVE,ditto,8s.4.THIODOLF,ditto,8s.5.MINSTREL LOVE,ditto,8s.6.MAGIC RING,ditto,6s.
Or the Six Vols., if taken together, 45s.
Romantic Tales for Youth.
HAUFF'S POPULAR TALES from the German. This Volume contains 17 of the best Tales of this clever and amusing writer, than whom no author has been more popular in his own country.
Price in cloth gilt, 4s., morocco elegant, 5s.6d.
Also, a Companion to the above,
SELECT POPULAR TALES from the celebrated collection of Musaeus. Cloth, 2s.6d., morocco elegant, 4s.
Gift Books for Young Ladies.
1. LAYS and BALLADS from English and Scottish History. Second Edition, improved, with Notes and Explanations. Cloth, 3s.6d., morocco elegant, 5s.
2. THE VIRGIN MARTYR, byMassinger, illustrated by Pickersgill. Small 4to., 5s., half-morocco, 6s.
3. TALES of FEMALE HEROISM (Nineteen Tales), drawn from authentic sources. Cloth, 3s., half-morocco, 4s.6d.
4. FIVE TALES of OLD TIME, containing the Story of Genoveva, &c., with Six Pictures, 6s.
5. MANZONI'S BETROTHED. Sixty Engravings. Two Vols., 10s.6d.
6. MARCO VISCONTI, complete in One Vol., 5s., mor. 6s.6d.
7. SACRED VERSES, by Rev.I. Williams, with 36 Pictures, from Durer Overbeck, &c., 12s.
8. TALES from the GERMAN ofC. Pichler. Cloth, 3s.6d., morocco, 5s.
9. GERMAN BALLADS and SONGS. Cloth, 3s.6d., morocco, 5s.
10. PRASCA LOUPOULOFF, and other Stories and Sketches: a varied and interesting volume. Cloth, 2s.6d., morocco, 4s.
N.B. Catalogues, containing a great variety of others, may be had on application to the Publisher.
Presents for Children.
1. NURSERY TALES: containing Twenty of the best old Nursery favourites, and illustrated with engravings. Half-bound elegant morocco, 12s.
2. SHORT STORIES and POEMS: a new Nursery Book or Holiday Book for Young Children: Forty Engravings, 3s.
3. NURSERY RHYMES and JINGLES (180 in number); with numerous Engravings and Ornaments round each page. 7s., or in splendid crimson and gold binding, 10s.6d.
4. HOUSEHOLD TALES and TRADITIONS, as told at the Firesides of England, Scotland, Germany, &c. Fifty Stories, twenty-one cuts, cloth, 3s., morocco, 4s.6d.
N.B. A Catalogue with a variety of others may be had, gratis, on application.
Books for Boys, combining Amusement and Instruction.
1. CHOICE BALLADS and METRICAL TALES, from Percy, Scott, Jameson, Ritson, &c. (18 Engravings). Cloth, 3s., morocco, 4s.6d.
2. SELECT PLAYS of SHAKESPEARE, with Notes and Introductions. (Nearly ready).
3. TALES of ADVENTURE by SEA and LAND. 3s.6d.(In the press.)
4. POPULAR PLUTARCH; LIVES of celebrated Greeks and Romans. One Vol. Illustrated. Cloth, 4s.6d., morocco, 6s.
5. LIVES of ENGLISHMEN in PAST DAYS. Containing Nineteen Lives. Two Vols., 2s.6d.each in cloth, or 4s.morocco.
6. STORIES of the CRUSADES; with Frontispiece and Plans. Cloth, 3s.6d., half morocco, 5s.
7. HAUFF'S TALES,—The Caravan—The Sheick of Alexandria—The Cold Heart, &c. &c. Nineteen Stories, illustrated by W. B. Scott. Cloth, 4s., morocco, 5s.6d.
8. SELECT FABLES, Ancient and Modern. Two Hundred and Thirty in number, containing all the best Specimens extant, and carefully revised. Cloth, 2s.6d., morocco, 4s.
9. DON QUIXOTE: a new edition, condensed and revised for the use of the Young. Cloth, 6s., half-morocco, 7s.6d.
10. MUSAEUS' POPULAR TALES (from the celebrated "Volks-Marchen,") with Six Engravings. Cloth, 2s.6d., morocco, 4s.
11. TALES from TIECK. A selection of some of the most popular Fictions of this great Author; with Six Engravings, 5s.
12. A POPULAR HISTORY of the FRENCH REVOLUTION. 5s.cloth, half-morocco, 6s.6d.This volume contains a complete account of this eventful period, commencing with the first rise of the revolutionary movement, and including the whole career of Napoleon down to the battle of Waterloo; with Engravings and Plans.
N.B. A Catalogue containing a large variety of others may be had, gratis, on application.
Lives of the Ancients.
PLUTARCH'S LIVES, newly edited by the Rev. A. J. Howell, with engravings by Pickersgill. Cloth, 4s.6d., morocco elegant, 6s.This will be found a very suitable volume for the Young.
An extensive List of Educational Books,&c.
Cheap Library of Recreation and Instruction.
With 120 Engravings.
BURNS' FIRESIDE LIBRARY: an agreeable Melange of Instruction and Entertainment,—Tales, Romances, Biography, History, Songs, Ballads, &c. &c., admirably adapted for a Present. With 120 Illustrations.
Price: Thirty-Five Parts, ornamented wrappers 2l.2s.; Twenty-One Volumes, bound in cloth gilt, 3l.3s.
1.EVENINGS with the OLD STORY-TELLERS.2s.6d.2.CHOICE BALLADS and TALES.3s.3.SHADOWLESS MAN, UNDINE, LIESLI. 1 vol.3s.4.NORTHERN MINSTRELSY.3s.5.LIVES OF ENGLISHMEN, First Series.2s.6d.6.DittoSecond Series.2s.6d.7.TWELVE NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.3s.8.THE WHITE LADY: Romances by Fouqué. 1 vol.3s.9.PRASCA LOUPOULOFF; and other Stories.2s.6d.10.LAYS and BALLADS from History.3s.6d.11.QUENTIN MATSYS; SWEDES in PRAGUE. 1 vol.3s.6d.12.SELECT FABLES, Ancient and Modern. 1 vol.2s.6d.13.HOUSEHOLD TALES and TRADITIONS.3s.14.CHURCHES; their STRUCTURE, &c.2s.6d.15.GERMAN BALLADS and SONGS.3s.6d.16.MUSAEUS' POPULAR TALES.2s.6d.17.MARCO VISCONTI. By Grossi.5s.18.HAUFF'S POPULAR TALES.4s.19.FOUQUE'S MAGIC RING.5s.20.SCHILLER'S JOAN of ARC, and WILLIAM TELL.4s.21.LIVES of CELEBRATED GREEKS and ROMANS.4s.6d.
Or, the Twenty-one Volumes, if taken together, for 3l.3s.
Also, strongly half-bound, for Lending Libraries, at the reduced price of 2l.16s.
These Volumes, done up in this handsome binding, will be found well-adapted for Presents, Rewards, &c., for which purpose they are also sold in elegant morocco at 1s.6d.a vol. above the price in cloth.
N.B.—Each Part or Volume may be had separately. Descriptive Catalogues on application.
FOUQUE'S SEASONS.By de la Motte Fouque. In separate Vols.
1. SPRING:—UNDINE. An entirely new translation, which it is believed reflects the peculiar beauties of the original much more accurately than any previous version. Beautifully printed in fcap. 8vo, with eleven original Designs by John Tenniel, Jun., price 5s.in elegant cloth, gilt tops.
2. SUMMER:—THE TWO CAPTAINS, with three Designs by Franklin, price 1s.6d.
3. AUTUMN:—ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT, with three Designs by Franklin, price 1s.6d.
4. WINTER:—SINTRAM. A New and more accurate Translation, uniform with the above, and containing ten Designs by Henry C. Selous, price 5s.
N.B.—New Catalogues, Show Boards, and Specimens may be had by the trade on application to the Publisher.
Magnificent Drawing-room Table or Gift-Book.
POEMS AND PICTURES: a Collection of Ballads, Songs, and other Poems. Illustrated by English Artists, with an ornamental border round each page.
***The unexpectedly rapid sale of the First Issue of this admired Work has encouraged the Publisher to prepare a Second Edition, with such improvements as he trusts will entitle it to a place among the finest Works of Art ever produced in this or any other country. It is splendidly printed in square 8vo., on toned paper, prepared for the purpose. Price, in handsome cloth gilt, two guineas; or in morocco elegant, two guineas and a half.
As the impression is limited, those who wish to procure copies for presents or other purposes should give their orders as early as possible.
N.B. A specimen of the letter-press and engravings, with a synopsis of the contents, sent by post on receipt of four postage stamps.