Scarf builds maintainer-friendly tools for open-source software distribution and analytics

Scarf

scarf

APPARATUS FOR PRINTING BY THE BLUE PROCESS

Can You Forgive Her? by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Lady Monk's Plan here Lady Monk's Plan. On the night of Lady Monk's party, Burgo Fitzgerald disappeared; and when the guests were gone and the rooms were empty, his aunt inquired for him in vain. The old butler and factotum of the house, who was employed by Sir Cosmo to put out the lamps and to see that he was not robbed beyond a certain point on these occasions of his wife's triumphs, was interrogated by his mistress, and said that he thought Mr. Burgo had left the house. Lady Monk herself knocked at her nephew's door, when she went up-stairs, ascending an additional flight of stairs with her weary old limbs in order that she might do so; she even opened the door and saw the careless debris of his toilet about the room. But he was gone. "Perhaps, after all, he has arranged it," she said to herself, as she went down to her own room. But Burgo, as we know, had not "arranged it." It may be remembered that when Mr. Palliser came back to his wife in the supper-room at Lady Monk's, bringing with him the scarf which Lady Glencora had left up-stairs, Burgo was no longer with her. He had become well aware that he had no chance left, at any rate for that night. The poor fool, acting upon his aunt's implied advice rather than his own hopes, had secured a post-chaise, and stationed it in Bruton Street, some five minutes' walk from his aunt's house. And he had purchased feminine wrappings, cloaks, &c.—things that he thought might be necessary for his companion. He had, too, ordered rooms at the new hotel near the Dover Station,—the London Bridge Station,—from whence was to start on the following morning a train to catch the tidal boat for Boulogne. There was a dressing-bag there for which he had paid twenty-five guineas out of his aunt's money, not having been able to induce the tradesman to grant it to him on credit; and there were other things,—slippers, collars, stockings, handkerchiefs, and what else might, as he thought, under such circumstances be most necessary. Poor thoughtful, thoughtless fool! The butler was right. He did leave the house. He saw Lady Glencora taken to her carriage from some back hiding-place in the hall, and then slipped out, unmindful of his shining boots, and dress coat and jewelled studs. He took a Gibus hat,—his own, or that of some other unfortunate,—and slowly made his way down to the place in Bruton Street. There was the carriage and pair of horses, all in readiness; and the driver, when he had placed himself by the door of the vehicle, was not long in emerging from the neighbouring public-house. "All ready, your honour," said the man. "I shan't want you to-night," said Burgo, hoarsely;—"go away." "And about the things, your honour?" "Take them to the devil. No; stop. Take them back with you, and ask somebody to keep them till I send for them. I shall want them and another carriage in a day or two." Then he gave the man half a sovereign, and went away, not looking at the little treasures which he had spent so much of his money in selecting for his love. When he was gone, the waterman and the driver turned them over with careful hands and gloating eyes. "It's a 'eiress, I'll go bail," said the waterman. "Pretty dear! I suppose her parints was too many for her," said the driver. But neither of them imagined the enormity which the hirer of the chaise had in truth contemplated. Burgo from thence took his way back into Grosvenor Square, and from thence down Park Street, and through a narrow passage and a mews which there are in those parts, into Park Lane. He had now passed the position of Mr. Palliser's house, having come out on Park Lane at a spot nearer to Piccadilly; but he retraced his steps, walking along by the rails of the Park, till he found himself opposite to the house. Then he stood there, leaning back upon the railings, and looking up at Lady Glencora's windows. What did he expect to see? Or was he, in truth, moved by love of that kind which can take joy in watching the slightest shadow that is made by the one loved object,—that may be made by her, or, by some violent conjecture of the mind, may be supposed to have been so made? Such love as that is, I think, always innocent. Burgo Fitzgerald did not love like that. I almost doubt whether he can be said to have loved at all. There was in his breast a mixed, feverish desire, which he took no trouble to analyse. He wanted money. He wanted the thing of which this Palliser had robbed him. He wanted revenge,—though his desire for that was not a burning desire. And among other things, he wanted the woman's beauty of the woman whom he coveted. He wanted to kiss her again as he had once kissed her, and to feel that she was soft, and lovely, and loving for him. But as for seeing her shadow, unless its movement indicated some purpose in his favour,—I do not think that he cared much about that. And why then was he there? Because in his unreasoning folly he did not know what step to take, or what step not to take. There are men whose energies hardly ever carry them beyond looking for the thing they want. She might see him from the window, and come to him. I do not say that he thought that it would be so. I fancy that he never thought at all about that or about anything. If you lie under a tree, and open your mouth, a plum may fall into it. It was probably an undefined idea of some such chance as this which brought him against the railings in the front of Mr. Palliser's house; that, and a feeling made up partly of despair and partly of lingering romance that he was better there, out in the night air, under the gas-lamps, than he could be elsewhere. There he stood and looked, and cursed his ill-luck. But his curses had none of the bitterness of those which George Vavasor was always uttering. Through it all there remained about Burgo one honest feeling,—one conviction that was true,—a feeling that it all served him right, and that he had better, perhaps, go to the devil at once, and give nobody any more trouble. If he loved no one sincerely, neither did he hate any one; and whenever he made any self-inquiry into his own circumstances, he always told himself that it was all his own fault. When he cursed his fate, he only did so because cursing is so easy. George Vavasor would have ground his victims up to powder if he knew how; but Burgo Fitzgerald desired to hurt no one. There he stood till he was cold, and then, as the plum did not drop into his mouth, he moved on. He went up into Oxford Street, and walked along it the whole distance to the corner of Bond Street, passing by Grosvenor Square, to which he intended to return. At the corner of Bond Street, a girl took hold of him, and looked up into his face. "Ah!" she said, "I saw you once before."—"Then you saw the most miserable devil alive," said Burgo. "You can't be miserable," said the girl. "What makes you miserable? You've plenty of money."—"I wish I had," said Burgo. "And plenty to eat and drink," exclaimed the girl; "and you are so handsome! I remember you. You gave me supper one night when I was starving. I ain't hungry now. Will you give me a kiss?"—"I'll give you a shilling, and that's better," said Burgo. "But give me a kiss too," said the girl. He gave her first the kiss, and then the shilling, and after that he left her and passed on. "I'm d––––d if I wouldn't change with her!" he said to himself. "I wonder whether anything really ails him?" thought the girl. "He said he was wretched before. Shouldn't I like to be good to such a one as him!" Burgo went on, and made his way into the house in Grosvenor Square, by some means probably unknown to his aunt, and certainly unknown to his uncle. He emptied his pockets as he got into bed, and counted a roll of notes which he had kept in one of them. There were still a hundred and thirty pounds left. Lady Glencora had promised that she would see him again. She had said as much as that quite distinctly. But what use would there be in that if all his money should then be gone? He knew that the keeping of money in his pocket was to him quite an impossibility. Then he thought of his aunt. What should he say to his aunt if he saw her in the course of the coming day? Might it not be as well for him to avoid his aunt altogether? He breakfasted up-stairs in his bedroom,—in the bed, indeed, eating a small paté de foie gras from the supper-table, as he read a French novel. There he was still reading his French novel in bed when his aunt's maid came to him, saying that his aunt wished to see him before she went out. "Tell me, Lucy," said he, "how is the old girl?" "She's as cross as cross, Mr. Burgo. Indeed, I shan't;—not a minute longer. Don't, now; will you? I tell you she's waiting for me." From which it may be seen that Lucy shared the general feminine feeling in favour of poor Burgo. Thus summoned Burgo applied himself to his toilet; but as he did so, he recruited his energies from time to time by a few pages of the French novel, and also by small doses from a bottle of curaçoa which he had in his bedroom. He was utterly a pauper. There was no pauper poorer than he in London that day. But, nevertheless, he breakfasted on paté de foie gras and curaçoa, and regarded those dainties very much as other men regard bread and cheese and beer. But though he was dressing at the summons of his aunt, he had by no means made up his mind that he would go to her. Why should he go to her? What good would it do him? She would not give him more money. She would only scold him for his misconduct. She might, perhaps, turn him out of the house if he did not obey her,—or attempt to do so; but she would be much more likely to do this when he had made her angry by contradicting her. In neither case would he leave the house, even though its further use were positively forbidden him, because his remaining there was convenient; but as he could gain nothing by seeing "the old girl," as he had called her, he resolved to escape to his club without attending to her summons. But his aunt, who was a better general than he, out-manœuvred him. He crept down the back stairs; but as he could not quite condescend to escape through the area, he was forced to emerge upon the hall, and here his aunt pounced upon him, coming out of the breakfast-parlour. "Did not Lucy tell you that I wanted to see you?" Lady Monk asked, with severity in her voice. Burgo replied, with perfect ease, that he was going out just to have his hair washed and brushed. He would have been back in twenty minutes. There was no energy about the poor fellow, unless, perhaps, when he was hunting; but he possessed a readiness which enabled him to lie at a moment's notice with the most perfect ease. Lady Monk did not believe him; but she could not confute him, and therefore she let the lie pass. "Never mind your hair now," she said. "I want to speak to you. Come in here for a few minutes." As there was no way of escape left to him, he followed his aunt into the breakfast-parlour. "Burgo," she said, when she had seated herself, and had made him sit in a chair opposite to her, "I don't think you will ever do any good." "I don't much think I shall, aunt." "What do you mean, then, to do with yourself?" "Oh,—I don't know. I haven't thought much about it." "You can't stay here in this house. Sir Cosmo was speaking to me about you only yesterday morning." "I shall be quite willing to go down to Monkshade, if Sir Cosmo likes it better;—that is, when the season is a little more through." "He won't have you at Monkshade. He won't let you go there again. And he won't have you here. You know that you are turning what I say into joke." "No, indeed, aunt," "Yes, you are;—you know you are. You are the most ungrateful, heartless creature I ever met. You must make up your mind to leave this house at once." "Where does Sir Cosmo mean that I should go, then?" "To the workhouse, if you like. He doesn't care." "I don't suppose he does;—the least in the world," said Burgo, opening his eyes, and stretching his nostrils, and looking into his aunt's face as though he had great ground for indignation. But the turning of Burgo out of the house was not Lady Monk's immediate purpose. She knew that he would hang on there till the season was over. After that he must not be allowed to return again, unless he should have succeeded in a certain enterprise. She had now caught him in order that she might learn whether there was any possible remaining chance of success as to that enterprise. So she received his indignation in silence, and began upon another subject. "What a fool you made of yourself last night, Burgo!" "Did I;—more of a fool than usual?" "I believe that you will never be serious about anything. Why did you go on waltzing in that way when every pair of eyes in the room was watching you?" "I couldn't help going on, if she liked it." "Oh, yes,—say it was her fault. That's so like a man!" "Look here, aunt, I'm not going to sit here and be abused. I couldn't take her in my arms, and fly away with her out of a crowd." "Who wants you to fly away with her?" "For the matter of that, I suppose that you do." "No, I don't." "Well, then, I do." "You! you haven't spirit to do that, or anything else. You are like a child that is just able to amuse itself for the moment, and never can think of anything further. You simply disgraced yourself last night, and me too,—and her; but, of course, you care nothing about that." "I had a plan all ready;—only he came back." "Of course he came back. Of course he came back, when they sent him word how you and she were going on. And now he will have forgiven her, and after that, of course, the thing will be all over." "I tell you what, aunt; she would go if she knew how. When I was forced to leave her last night, she promised to see me again. And as for being idle, and not doing anything;—why, I was out in Park Lane last night, after you were in bed." "What good did that do?" "It didn't do any good, as it happened. But a fellow can only try. I believe, after all, it would be easier down in the country,—especially now that he has taken it into his head to look after her." Lady Monk sat silent for a few moments, and then she said in a low voice, "What did she say to you when you were parting? What were her exact words?" She, at any rate, was not deficient in energy. She was anxious enough to see her purpose accomplished. She would have conducted the matter with discretion, if the running away with Mr. Palliser's wife could, in very fact, have been done by herself. "She said she would see me again. She promised it twice." "And was that all?" "What could she say more, when she was forced to go away?" "Had she said that she would go with you?" "I had asked her,—half a dozen times, and she did not once refuse. I know she means it, if she knew how to get away. She hates him;—I'm sure of it. A woman, you know, wouldn't absolutely say that she would go, till she was gone." "If she really meant it, she would tell you." "I don't think she could have told me plainer. She said she would see me again. She said that twice over." Again Lady Monk sat silent. She had a plan in her head,—a plan that might, as she thought, give to her nephew one more chance. But she hesitated before she could bring herself to explain it in detail. At first she had lent a little aid to this desired abduction of Mr. Palliser's wife, but in lending it had said no word upon the subject. During the last season she had succeeded in getting Lady Glencora to her house in London, and had taken care that Burgo should meet her there. Then a hint or two had been spoken, and Lady Glencora had been asked to Monkshade. Lady Glencora, as we know, did not go to Monkshade, and Lady Monk had then been baffled. But she did not therefore give up the game. Having now thought of it so much, she began to speak of it more boldly, and had procured money for her nephew that he might thereby be enabled to carry off the woman. But though this had been well understood between them, though words had been spoken which were sufficiently explicit, the plan had not been openly discussed. Lady Monk had known nothing of the mode in which Lady Glencora was to have been carried off after her party, nor whither she was to have been taken. But now,—now she must arrange it herself, and have a scheme of her own, or else the thing must fail absolutely. Even she was almost reluctant to speak out plainly to her nephew on such a subject. What if he should be false to her, and tell of her? But when a woman has made such schemes, nothing distresses her so sadly as their failure. She would risk all rather than that Mr. Palliser should keep his wife. "I will try and help you," she said at last, speaking hoarsely, almost in a whisper, "if you have courage to make an attempt yourself." "Courage!" said he "What is it you think I am afraid of? Mr. Palliser? I'd fight him,—or all the Pallisers, one after another, if it would do any good." "Fighting! There's no fighting wanted, as you know well enough. Men don't fight nowadays. Look here! If you can get her to call here some day,—say on Thursday, at three o'clock,—I will be here to receive her; and instead of going back into her carriage, you can have a cab for her somewhere near. She can come, as it were, to make a morning call." "A cab!" "Yes; a cab won't kill her, and it is less easily followed than a carriage." "And where shall we go?" "There is a train to Southampton at four, and the boat sails for Jersey at half-past six; you will be in Jersey the next morning, and there is a boat goes on to St. Malo, almost at once. You can go direct from one boat to the other,—that is, if she has strength and courage." After that, who will say that Lady Monk was not a devoted aunt? "That would do excellently well," said the enraptured Burgo. "She will have difficulty in getting away from me, out of the house. Of course I shall say nothing about it, and shall know nothing about it. She had better tell her coachman to drive somewhere to pick some one up, and to return;—out somewhere to Tyburnia, or down to Pimlico. Then she can leave me, and go out on foot, to where you have the cab. She can tell the hall-porter that she will walk to her carriage. Do you understand?" Burgo declared that he did understand. "You must call on her, and make your way in, and see her, and arrange all this. It must be a Thursday, because of the boats." Then she made inquiry about his money, and took from him the notes which he had, promising to return them, with something added, on the Thursday morning; but he asked, with a little whine, for a five-pound note, and got it. Burgo then told her about the travelling-bags and the stockings, and they were quite pleasant and confidential. "Bid her come in a stout travelling-dress," said Lady Monk. "She can wear some lace or something over it, so that the servants won't observe it. I will take no notice of it." Was there ever such an aunt? After this, Burgo left his aunt, and went away to his club, in a state of most happy excitement. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Anthony Trollope (2006). Can You Forgive Her?. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/19500/pg19500-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Lady Monk's Plan

The Pallisers at Breakfast

THE NOUN AND THE PRONOUN

Business English: A Practice Book by Rose Buhlig is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . SPELLING RULES here SPELLING RULES Exercise 29—Plurals of Nouns ( ) a dress, dresses ( ) b chair, chairs splash, splashes wave, waves business, businesses book, books church, churches pencil, pencils fox, foxes paper, papers The usual way of forming the plural of English nouns is illustrated by the words in column ( ) above. What is it? b If you add to the singular form , could you distinguish the pronunciation of the plural from the pronunciation of the singular? Does this suggest a reason for adding to form the plural? s dress es How many syllables must you use to pronounce the plural of fox? Does this suggest another reason for adding to form the plural? es Every word that ends in a sibilant or hissing sound ( , , , , , ) forms its plural like . Give several illustrations. ch s sh ss x z fox Rule 1.—Nouns regularly form the plural by adding , but those ending in a sibilant must add .\Exercise 30 s es ( ) a lady, ladies ( ) b valley, valleys ally, allies alley, alleys soliloquy, soliloquies journey, journeys Name five words belonging to group ( ) above. Does a vowel or a consonant precede the in each case? a y Name other words belonging to the group ( ) above. Does a vowel or a consonant precede the in each case? b y **Rule 2.—Nouns ending in preceded by a consonant (and nouns ending in ) form the plural by changing to and adding .\Exercise 31—Words ending in o y quy y i es ( ) a potato, potatoes hero, heroes mulatto, mulattoes tomato, tomatoes buffalo, buffaloes cargo, cargoes negro, negroes echo, echoes motto, mottoes ( ) b solo, solos piano, pianos memento, mementos halo, halos lasso, lassos canto, cantos zero, zeros quarto, quartos soprano, sopranos stilletto, stillettos The older English words ending in form the plural by adding , as in potatoes; those more recently taken into the language form the plural by adding , as in quartos. o es s Exercise 32—Nouns in f and fe leaf, leaves calf, calves wife, wives loaf, loaves sheaf, sheaves shelf, shelves half, halves wolf, wolves elf, elves life, lives beef, beeves wharf, wharves (or wharfs) self, selves knife, knives ith the exception of the words given above, nouns ending in an sound form the plural in the regular way; as, f hoof, hoofs scarf, scarfs beliefs, beliefs chief, chiefs reef, reefs grief, griefs Exercise 33—Irregular Plurals Some nouns form their plural by a change of vowel; as, man men foot feet woman women tooth teeth goose geese mouse mice A few words retain the old time plural as, en; brother    brethren child children ox oxen A few words are the same in both singular and plural; as, sheep, trout, deer Some nouns have two plurals which differ in meaning; as, Singular Plural brother brothers brethren penny pennies pence pea peas pease die dies dice Consult a dictionary for the difference in meaning between the two plurals of each word. **Exercise 34—Compound Nouns Singular Plural brother-in-law brothers-in-law father-in-law fathers-in-law court-martial courts-martial commander-in-chief commanders-in-chief man-of-war men-of-war major general major generals goose quill goose quills bill of fare bills of fare spoonful spoonfuls cupful cupfuls Rule 3.—Compound nouns usually add the sign of the plural to the fundamental part of the word. Note.—In the thought is of one spoon many times full. spoonfuls Plural of Letters and Figures Rule 4.—Letters and figures form the plural by adding the apostrophe (') and as, s; a a's 3 3's w w's 5 5's The same rule applies to the plural of words which ordinarily have no plural; as, Don't use so many and . and's if's Exercise 35—Foreign Plurals Some nouns derived from foreign languages retain their original plural. The following are in common use. Consult a dictionary for their pronunciation and definition. Singular Plural Singular Plural crisis crises stratum strata thesis theses radius radii hypothesis hypotheses parenthesis parentheses focus foci synopsis synopses datum data basis bases alumnus alumni automaton automata alumna alumnae analysis analyses oasis oases nucleus nuclei axis axes phenomenon phenomena genus genera Some words admit of two plurals, one the foreign plural, and one the regular English plural; as, Singular Plural beau beaux beaus formula formulae formulas vertex vertices vertexes index indices indexes cherub cherubim cherubs seraph seraphim seraphs bandit banditti bandits Consult a dictionary to see whether there is any difference of meaning between the two plurals of these words. **Exercise 36—The Formation of Participles , , Rap rapping rapped , , Reap reaping reaped is a monosyllable ending in a single consonant preceded by a single vowel. The final consonant in such words is doubled before a suffix beginning with a vowel is added. Rap In the final consonant is not doubled because it is preceded by two vowels. reap Make the participles of the following verbs: chat lap suit step cheat leap sit steep rot train sop trot root trim soap treat , , Trap trapping trapped , , Track tracking tracked Why is the final consonant in doubled before or is added? trap ing ed The final consonant in is not doubled because ends with two consonants. track track , Pin pinning , Pine pining drops the silent because the tendency in English is to drop endings that are not needed for pronunciation before adding a suffix beginning with a vowel. Pine e Form the participles of the following verbs: knot rob flop note robe elope deal swim quit ( is not here a vowel) u clap strike crawl ( is here a vowel) w stop oil wax ( equals ) x cks peal rush bow ( is here a vowel) w Exercise 37 Exercise 36 applies also to words of more than one syllable accented on the last syllable, if they retain the accent on the same syllable after the suffix is added. Thus we have Rule 5.—Monosyllables or words accented on the last syllable, ending in a single consonant preceded by a single vowel, double the final consonant before adding a suffix beginning with a vowel. Form participles from the following words that are accented on the last syllable: prefer intervene escape expel refer reveal acquire contain occur repeal secure forbid permit pursue conceal incur interfere erase arrange forget retain control acquit repel Form participles from the following words not accented on the last syllable: benefit travel marvel shelter revel answer exhibit render quarrel profit shovel limit Words in which the accent changes do not double the final consonant before adding a suffix beginning with a vowel; as, confer conference infer inference refer reference prefer preferable Explain why the final consonant is doubled in each of the following words: not neglect neglecting lean leaning prefer preference select selecting creep creeping receipt receipting wonder wondering answer answering Exercise 38 Rule 6.—In forming the present participle of verbs ending in , retain the before adding as, y y ing; study studying obey obeying carry carrying convey conveying pity pitying In forming the perfect participle, if in the present tense the is preceded by a consonant, the is changed to and added; if the is preceded by a vowel, the is retained; as, y y i ed y y study studied carry carried pity pitied but obey obeyed convey conveyed Compare with . Rule 2 Exercise 39 Rule 7.—In words containing a long sound spelled either or , follows follows one of the other consonants; as, e ie ei ei c; ie ei ie deceive relieve siege perceive believe yield receive belief grief conceive chief field conceit priest piece receipt niece wield reprieve lien —Either, neither, weird, seize, leisure. Exceptions. The following couplet may help in remembering when to write and when to write ie ei: When the letter you spy, Put the before the . c e i Exercise 40—The Pronunciation of and c g The letter is pronounced sometimes like and sometimes like . c s k What sound does have before Illustrate. c a? Before Illustrate. e? Before Illustrate. i? Before Illustrate. o? Before Illustrate. u? Before Illustrate. y? If is pronounced like , it is called hard and is marked . c k [\c] If is pronounced like , it is called soft and is marked . The mark used to indicate the soft is called the . c s ç c cedilla Make a statement telling when is hard and when it is soft. c What sound does have before each of the vowels, as in , , , , g game gone gymnasium Gunther gentle? Rule 8.— and usually are soft before , , and .\Exercise 41 C g e i y Words ending in silent , according to Rule 5, drop the before a suffix beginning with a vowel. Exceptions occur when the is needed to preserve the soft sound of and . Tell why is dropped in and retained in . e e e c g e encouraging courageous In words containing , as in and , the gives the the soft sound, and there is no need to retain the before adding a suffix, as in . dg judge lodge d g e judgment Rule 9.—Words ending in silent usually drop the before adding a suffix beginning with a vowel, unless the is needed to preserve the pronunciation; as after soft and , when the suffix begins with or . e e e c g a o Tell why the is retained before the suffix in the following: e noticeable damageable pronounceable outrageous courageous peaceable serviceable manageable Tell why the is dropped before adding the suffix in the following: e managing curable erasure besieging admirable realization receiving obliging precedence perseverance The fact that has two different sounds causes a slight peculiarity in words ending in . Final has the sound of . When words end in , the letter is usually added before a suffix beginning with either , , or , to show that is not pronounced like as, c c c k c k e i y c s; frolic       frolicked       frolicking If the is not added, the changes its pronunciation; as, k c public       publicity Exercise 42 It follows by inference from Rule 9 that words ending in silent retain the before a suffix beginning with a consonant; as, e e move movement disgrace disgraceful defense defenseless fate fateful arrange arrangement fierce fiercely noise noiseless manage management severe severely rude rudeness —Truly, duly, wisdom, awful, wholly. Exceptions. Bring to class a list of twenty words that retain the final before a suffix beginning with a consonant. e Exercise 43 What spelling rule does each of the following words illustrate? advantageous gigantic boxes admittance mimicking piece libraries occurrence arrangement receipt keys acquittal Exercise 44—Abbreviations Write abbreviations for the months of the year. Are there any that should not be abbreviated? The abbreviations for the states and territories are: Alabama, Ala. Maryland, Md. Arizona, Ariz. Massachusetts, Mass. Arkansas, Ark. Michigan, Mich. California, Cal. Minnesota, Minn. Colorado, Colo. Mississippi, Miss. Connecticut, Conn. Missouri, Mo. Delaware, Del. Montana, Mont. District of Columbia, D.C. Nebraska, Nebr. Florida, Fla. Nevada, Nev. Georgia, Ga. New Hampshire, N.H. Idaho, Idaho New Mexico, N. Mex. Illinois, Ill. New York, N.Y. Indiana, Ind. New Jersey, N.J. Iowa, Ia. North Carolina, N.C. Kansas, Kans. North Dakota, N. Dak. Kentucky, Ky. Ohio, O. Louisiana, La. Oklahoma, Okla. Maine, Me. Oregon, Ore. Pennsylvania, Pa. Utah, Utah Philippine Islands, P.I. Vermont, Vt. Porto Rico, P.R. Virginia, Va. South Carolina, S.C. Washington, Wash. South Dakota, S.D. Wisconsin, Wis. Tennessee, Tenn. West Virginia, W. Va. Texas, Tex. Wyoming, Wyo. Note.—It is much better to write the full name rather than the abbreviation whenever the former would make the address clearer, especially as regards similar abbreviations, such as Cal. and Colo. Exercise 45—Abbreviations of Commercial Terms A 1, first class doz., dozen @, at E. & O.E., errors and omissions excepted acct., account ea., each adv., advertisement e.g., for example agt., agent etc., and so forth a.m., forenoon exch., exchange amt., amount ft., foot app., appendix f.o.b., free on board atty., attorney gal., gallon av., average i.e., that is avoir., avoirdupois imp., imported bal., balance in., inches bbl., barrel inst., this month (instant) B/L, bill of lading Jr., junior bldg., building kg., keg B/S, bill of sale lb., pound bu., bushel ltd., limited C.B., cash book mdse., merchandise C., hundred mem., memorandum coll., collection, collector mo., month Co., company M.S. (MSS)., manuscript C.O.D., cash on delivery mtg., mortgage cr., creditor N.B., take notice cwt., hundredweight no., number D., five hundred O.K., all right dept., department per, by disc., discount p.m., afternoon do., ditto %, per cent dr., debtor, debit St., street pkg., package str., steamer pp., pages ult., last month pr., pair U.S.M., United States Mail pc., piece viz., namely pk., peck vol., volume prox., next month W/B, way bill pt., pint wt., weight Sr., senior About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Rose Buhlig (2011). Business English: A Practice Book. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/38046/pg38046-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

SPELLING RULES

How Lady Glencora Came Back from Lady Monk's Party

THE EVIL EYE

“HASTE TO THE WEDDING.”

"CAN YOU BE READY IN TEN MINUTES?"

A Treatise on Domestic Economy; For the Use of Young Ladies at Home and at School by Catharine Esther Beecher, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . ON CLEANLINESS. here CHAPTER IX. ON CLEANLINESS. The importance of cleanliness, in person and dress, can never be fully realized, by persons who are ignorant of the construction of the skin, and of the influence which its treatment has on the health of the body. Persons deficient in such knowledge, frequently sneer at what they deem the foolish and fidgety particularity of others, whose frequent ablutions and changes of clothing, exceed their own measure of importance. The popular maxim, that "dirt is healthy," has probably arisen from the fact, that playing in the open air is very beneficial to the health of children, who thus get dirt on their persons and clothes. But it is the fresh air and exercise, and not the dirt, which promotes the health. In a previous article, it was shown, that the lungs, bowels, kidneys, and skin, were the organs employed in throwing off those waste and noxious parts of the food not employed in nourishing the body. Of this, the skin has the largest duty to perform; throwing off, at least, twenty ounces every twenty-four hours, by means of insensible perspiration. When exercise sets the blood in quicker motion, it ministers its supplies faster, and there is consequently a greater residuum to be thrown off by the skin; and then the perspiration becomes so abundant as to be perceptible. In this state, if a sudden chill take place, the blood-vessels of the skin contract, the blood is driven from the surface, and the internal organs are taxed with a double duty. If the constitution be a strong one, these organs march on and perform the labor exacted. But if any of these organs be debilitated, the weakest one generally gives way, and some disease ensues. One of the most frequent illustrations of this reciprocated action, is afforded by a convivial meeting in cold weather. The heat of the room, the food, and the excitement, quicken the circulation, and perspiration is evolved. When the company passes into the cold air, a sudden revulsion takes place. The increased circulation continues, for some time after; but the skin being cooled, the blood retreats, and the internal organs are obliged to perform the duties of the skin as well as their own. Then, in case the lungs are the weakest organ, the mucous secretion becomes excessive; so that it would fill up the cells, and stop the breathing, were it not for the spasmodic effort called coughing, by which this substance is thrown out. In case the nerves are the weakest part of the system, such an exposure would result in pains in the head or teeth, or in some other nervous ailment. If the muscles be the weakest part, rheumatic affections will ensue; and if the bowels or kidneys be weakest, some disorder in their functions will result. But it is found, that the closing of the pores of the skin with other substances, tends to a similar result on the internal organs. In this situation, the skin is unable perfectly to perform its functions, and either the blood remains to a certain extent unpurified, or else the internal organs have an unnatural duty to perform. Either of these results tends to produce disease, and the gradual decay of the vital powers. Moreover, it has been shown, that the skin has the power of absorbing into the blood particles retained on its surface. In consequence of these peculiarities, the skin of the whole body needs to be washed, every day. This process removes from the pores the matter exhaled from the blood, and also that collected from the atmosphere and other bodies. If this process be not often performed, the pores of the skin fill up with the redundant matter expelled, and being pressed, by the clothing, to the surface of the body, the skin is both interrupted in its exhaling process, and its absorbents take back into the system portions of the noxious matter. Thus the blood is not relieved to the extent designed, while it receives back noxious particles, which are thus carried to the lungs, liver, and every part of the system. This is the reason why the articles worn next to the skin should often be changed; and why it is recommended that persons should not sleep in the article they wear next the skin through the day. The alternate change and airing of the articles worn next the body by day or night, is a practice very favorable to the health of the skin. The fresh air has the power of removing much of the noxious effluvia received from the body by the clothing. It is with reference to this, that on leaving a bed, its covering should be thrown open and exposed to the fresh air. The benefit arising from a proper care of the skin, is the reason why bathing has been so extensively practised by civilized nations. The Greeks and Romans considered bathing as indispensable to daily comfort, as much so, as their meals; and public baths were provided for all classes. In European countries, this practice is very prevalent, but there is no civilized nation which pays so little regard to the rules of health, on this subject, as our own. To wash the face, feet, hands, and neck, is the extent of the ablutions practised by perhaps the majority of our people. In regard to the use of the bath, there is need of some information, in order to prevent danger from its misuse. Persons in good health, and with strong constitutions, can use the cold bath, and the shower-bath, with entire safety and benefit. But if the constitution be feeble, cold bathing is injurious. If it is useful, it can be known by an invigorated feeling, and a warm glow on the skin; but if, instead of this, there be a feeling of debility, and the hands and feet become cold, it is a certain sign, that this kind of bathing is injurious. A bath at ninety-five degrees of Fahrenheit, is about the right temperature. A bath, blood warm, or a little cooler than the skin, is safe for all constitutions, if not protracted over half an hour. After bathing, the body should be rubbed with a brush or coarse towel, to remove the light scales of scarfskin, which adhere to it, and also to promote a healthful excitement. A bath should never be taken, till three hours after eating, as it interrupts the process of digestion, by withdrawing the blood from the stomach to the surface. Neither should it be taken, when the body is weary with exercise, nor be immediately followed by severe exercise. Many suppose that a warm bath exposes a person more readily to take cold; and that it tends to debilitate the system. This is not the case, unless it be protracted too long. If it be used so as to cleanse the skin, and give it a gentle stimulus, it is better able to resist cold than before the process. This is the reason why the Swedes and Russians can rush, reeking, out of their steam baths, and throw themselves into the snow, and not only escape injury, but feel invigorated. It is for a similar reason, that we suffer less in going into the cold, from a warm room, with our body entirely warm, than when we go out somewhat chilled. When the skin is warm, the circulation is active on the surface, and the cold does not so reduce its temperature, but that increased exercise will keep up its warmth. When families have no bathing establishment, every member should wash the whole person, on rising or going to bed, either in cold or warm water, according to the constitution. It is especially important, that children have the perspiration and other impurities, which their exercise and sports have occasioned, removed from their skin before going to bed. The hours of sleep are those when the body most freely exhales the waste matter of the system, and all the pores should be properly freed from impediments to this healthful operation. For this purpose, a large tin wash-pan should be kept for children, just large enough, at bottom, for them to stand in, and flaring outward, so as to be very broad at top. A child can then be placed in it, standing, and washed with a sponge, without wetting the floor. Being small at bottom, it is better than a tub; it is not only smaller, but lighter, and requires less water. These remarks indicate the wisdom of those parents, who habitually wash their children, all over, before they go to bed. The chance of life and health, to such children, is greatly increased by this practice; and no doubt much of the suffering of childhood, from cutaneous eruptions, weak eyes, earache, colds, and fevers, is owing to a neglect of the skin. The care of the teeth should be made habitual to children, not merely as promoting an agreeable appearance, but as a needful preservative. The saliva contains tartar, an earthy substance, which is deposited on the teeth, and destroys both their beauty and health. This can be prevented, by the use of the brush, night and morning. But, if this be neglected, the deposite becomes hard, and can be removed only by the dentist. If suffered to remain, it tends to destroy the health of the gums; they gradually decay, and thus the roots of the teeth become bare, and they often drop out. When children are shedding their first set of teeth, care should be taken, to remove them as soon as they become loose; otherwise the new teeth will grow awry. When persons have defective teeth, they can often be saved, by having them filled by a dentist. This also will frequently prevent the toothache. Children should be taught to take proper care of their nails. Long and dirty nails have a disagreeable appearance. When children wash, in the morning, they should be supplied with an instrument to clean the nails, and be required to use it. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Catharine Esther Beecher (2007). A Treatise on Domestic Economy; For the Use of Young Ladies at Home and at School. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/21829/pg21829-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

ON CLEANLINESS.

The early pages of this work that Dr Thorne was to be our hero

ON THE CARE OF HEALTH.

Sylvie and Bruno by Lewis Carroll, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . PETER AND PAUL here CHAPTER XI. PETER AND PAUL “As I was saying,” the other Professor resumed, “if you'll just think over any Poem, that contains the words—such as, 'Peter is poor,' said noble Paul,
   'And I have always been his friend:
    And, though my means to give are small,
    At least I can afford to lend.
    How few, in this cold age of greed,
    Do good, except on selfish grounds!
    But I can feel for Peter's need,
    And I WILL LEND HIM FIFTY POUNDS!'

    How great was Peter's joy to find
    His friend in such a genial vein!
    How cheerfully the bond he signed,
    To pay the money back again!
    'We ca'n't,' said Paul, 'be too precise:
    'Tis best to fix the very day:
    So, by a learned friend's advice,
    I've made it Noon, the Fourth of May. {Image...'How cheefully the bond he signed!'} But this is April!  Peter said.
    'The First of April, as I think.
    Five little weeks will soon be fled:
    One scarcely will have time to wink!
    Give me a year to speculate—
    To buy and sell—to drive a trade—'
    Said Paul 'I cannot change the date.
    On May the Fourth it must be paid.'

    'Well, well!' said Peter, with a sigh.
    'Hand me the cash, and I will go.
    I'll form a Joint-Stock Company,
    And turn an honest pound or so.'
    'I'm grieved,' said Paul, 'to seem unkind:
    The money shalt of course be lent:
    But, for a week or two, I find
    It will not be convenient.'

    So, week by week, poor Peter came
    And turned in heaviness away;
    For still the answer was the same,
    'I cannot manage it to-day.'
    And now the April showers were dry—
    The five short weeks were nearly spent—
    Yet still he got the old reply,
    'It is not quite convenient!'

    The Fourth arrived, and punctual Paul
    Came, with his legal friend, at noon.
    'I thought it best,' said he, 'to call:
    One cannot settle things too soon.'
    Poor Peter shuddered in despair:
    His flowing locks he wildly tore:
    And very soon his yellow hair
    Was lying all about the floor.

    The legal friend was standing by,
    With sudden pity half unmanned:
    The tear-drop trembled in his eye,
    The signed agreement in his hand:
    But when at length the legal soul
    Resumed its customary force,
    'The Law,' he said, 'we ca'n't control:
    Pay, or the Law must take its course!'

    Said Paul 'How bitterly I rue
    That fatal morning when I called!
    Consider, Peter, what you do!
    You won't be richer when you're bald!
    Think you, by rending curls away,
    To make your difficulties less?
    Forbear this violence, I pray:
    You do but add to my distress!' {Image...'Poor peter shuddered in despair'} 'Not willingly would I inflict,'
    Said Peter, 'on that noble heart
    One needless pang.  Yet why so strict?
    Is this to act a friendly part?
    However legal it may be
    To pay what never has been lent,
    This style of business seems to me
    Extremely inconvenient!

    'No Nobleness of soul have I,
    Like some that in this Age are found!'
    (Paul blushed in sheer humility,
    And cast his eyes upon the ground)
    'This debt will simply swallow all,
    And make my life a life of woe!'
    'Nay, nay, nay Peter!' answered Paul.
    'You must not rail on Fortune so!

    'You have enough to eat and drink:
    You are respected in the world:
    And at the barber's, as I think,
    You often get your whiskers curled.
    Though Nobleness you ca'n't attain
    To any very great extent—
    The path of Honesty is plain,
    However inconvenient!'

    “Tis true, 'said Peter,' I'm alive:
    I keep my station in the world:
    Once in the week I just contrive
    To get my whiskers oiled and curled.
    But my assets are very low:
    My little income's overspent:
    To trench on capital, you know,
    Is always inconvenient!'

    'But pay your debts!' cried honest Paul.
    'My gentle Peter, pay your debts!
    What matter if it swallows all
    That you describe as your “assets”?
    Already you're an hour behind:
    Yet Generosity is best.
    It pinches me—but never mind!
    I WILL NOT CHARGE YOU INTEREST!'

    'How good!  How great!' poor Peter cried.
    'Yet I must sell my Sunday wig—
    The scarf-pin that has been my pride—
    My grand piano—and my pig!'
    Full soon his property took wings:
    And daily, as each treasure went,
    He sighed to find the state of things
    Grow less and less convenient.

    Weeks grew to months, and months to years:
    Peter was worn to skin and bone:
    And once he even said, with tears,
    'Remember, Paul, that promised Loan!'
    Said Paul' I'll lend you, when I can,
    All the spare money I have got—
    Ah, Peter, you're a happy man!
    Yours is an enviable lot! {Image...Such boots as these you seldom see} 'I'm getting stout, as you may see:
    It is but seldom I am well:
    I cannot feel my ancient glee
    In listening to the dinner-bell:
    But you, you gambol like a boy,
    Your figure is so spare and light:
    The dinner-bell's a note of joy
    To such a healthy appetite!'

    Said Peter 'I am well aware
    Mine is a state of happiness:
    And yet how gladly could I spare
    Some of the comforts I possess!
    What you call healthy appetite
    I feel as Hunger's savage tooth:
    And, when no dinner is in sight,
    The dinner-bell's a sound of ruth!

    'No scare-crow would accept this coat:
    Such boots as these you seldom see.
    Ah, Paul, a single five-pound-note
    Would make another man of me!'
    Said Paul 'It fills me with surprise
    To hear you talk in such a tone:
    I fear you scarcely realise
    The blessings that are all your own!

    'You're safe from being overfed:
    You're sweetly picturesque in rags:
    You never know the aching head
    That comes along with money-bags:
    And you have time to cultivate
    That best of qualities, Content—
    For which you'll find your present state
    Remarkably convenient!'

    Said Peter 'Though I cannot sound
    The depths of such a man as you,
    Yet in your character I've found
    An inconsistency or two.
    You seem to have long years to spare
    When there's a promise to fulfil:
    And yet how punctual you were
    In calling with that little bill!'

    'One can't be too deliberate,'
    Said Paul, 'in parting with one's pelf.
    With bills, as you correctly state,
    I'm punctuality itself:
    A man may surely claim his dues:
    But, when there's money to be lent,
    A man must be allowed to choose
    Such times as are convenient!'

    It chanced one day, as Peter sat
    Gnawing a crust—his usual meal—
    Paul bustled in to have a chat,
    And grasped his hand with friendly zeal.
    'I knew,' said he, 'your frugal ways:
    So, that I might not wound your pride
    By bringing strangers in to gaze,
    I've left my legal friend outside!

    'You well remember, I am sure,
    When first your wealth began to go,
    And people sneered at one so poor,
    I never used my Peter so!
    And when you'd lost your little all,
    And found yourself a thing despised,
    I need not ask you to recall
    How tenderly I sympathised!

    'Then the advice I've poured on you,
    So full of wisdom and of wit:
    All given gratis, though 'tis true
    I might have fairly charged for it!
    But I refrain from mentioning
    Full many a deed I might relate
    For boasting is a kind of thing
    That I particularly hate. {Image...'I will lend you fifty more!'} 'How vast the total sum appears
    Of all the kindnesses I've done,
    From Childhood's half-forgotten years
    Down to that Loan of April One!
    That Fifty Pounds!  You little guessed
    How deep it drained my slender store:
    But there's a heart within this breast,
    And I WILL LEND YOU FIFTY MORE!'

    'Not so,' was Peter's mild reply,
    His cheeks all wet with grateful tears;
    No man recalls, so well as I,
    Your services in bygone years:
    And this new offer, I admit,
    Is very very kindly meant—
    Still, to avail myself of it
    Would not be quite convenient!' You'll see in a moment what the difference is between 'convenient' and 'inconvenient.' You quite understand it now, don't you?” he added, looking kindly at Bruno, who was sitting, at Sylvie's side, on the floor. “Yes,” said Bruno, very quietly. Such a short speech was very unusual, for him: but just then he seemed, I fancied, a little exhausted. In fact, he climbed up into Sylvie's lap as he spoke, and rested his head against her shoulder. “What a many verses it was!” he whispered. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Lewis Carroll (1996). Sylvie and Bruno. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/620/pg620-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

PETER AND PAUL

THE RICH BOY

A Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . OUR VOYAGE TO ICELAND here CHAPTER VI - OUR VOYAGE TO ICELAND The hour of departure came at last. The night before, the worthy Mr. Thompson brought us the most cordial letters of introduction for Baron Trampe, Governor of Iceland, for M. Pictursson, coadjutor to the bishop, and for M. Finsen, mayor of the town of Reykjavik. In return, my uncle nearly crushed his hands, so warmly did he shake them. On the second of the month, at two in the morning, our precious cargo of luggage was taken on board the good ship . We followed, and were very politely introduced by the captain to a small cabin with two standing bed places, neither very well ventilated nor very comfortable. But in the cause of science men are expected to suffer. Valkyrie "Well, and have we a fair wind?" cried my uncle, in his most mellifluous accents. "An excellent wind!" replied Captain Bjarne; "we shall leave the Sound, going free with all sails set." A few minutes afterwards, the schooner started before the wind, under all the canvas she could carry, and entered the channel. An hour later, the capital of Denmark seemed to sink into the waves, and we were at no great distance from the coast of Elsinore. My uncle was delighted; for myself, moody and dissatisfied, I appeared almost to expect a glimpse of the ghost of Hamlet. "Sublime madman," thought I, "you doubtless would approve our proceedings. You might perhaps even follow us to the centre of the earth, there to resolve your eternal doubts." But no ghost or anything else appeared upon the ancient walls. The fact is, the castle is much later than the time of the heroic prince of Denmark. It is now the residence of the keeper of the Strait of the Sound, and through that Sound more than fifteen thousand vessels of all nations pass every year. The castle of Kronborg soon disappeared in the murky atmosphere, as well as the tower of Helsinborg, which raises its head on the Swedish Bank. And here the schooner began to feel in earnest the breezes of the Kattegat. The was swift enough, but with all sailing boats there is the same uncertainty. Her cargo was coal, furniture, pottery, woolen clothing, and a load of corn. As usual, the crew was small, five Danes doing the whole of the work. Valkyrie "How long will the voyage last?" asked my uncle. "Well, I should think about ten days," replied the skipper, "unless, indeed, we meet with some northeast gales among the Faroe Islands." "At all events, there will be no very considerable delay," cried the impatient Professor. "No, Mr. Hardwigg," said the captain, "no fear of that. At all events, we shall get there some day." Towards evening the schooner doubled Cape Skagen, the northernmost part of Denmark, crossed the Skagerrak during the night—skirted the extreme point of Norway through the gut of Cape Lindesnes, and then reached the Northern Seas. Two days later we were not far from the coast of Scotland, somewhere near what Danish sailors call Peterhead, and then the stretched out direct for the Faroe Islands, between Orkney and Shetland. Our vessel now felt the full force of the ocean waves, and the wind shifting, we with great difficulty made the Faroe Isles. On the eighth day, the captain made out Myganness, the westernmost of the isles, and from that moment headed direct for Portland, a cape on the southern shores of the singular island for which we were bound. Valkyrie The voyage offered no incident worthy of record. I bore it very well, but my uncle to his great annoyance, and even shame, was remarkably seasick! This mal de mer troubled him the more that it prevented him from questioning Captain Bjarne as to the subject of Sneffels, as to the means of communication, and the facilities of transport. All these explanations he had to adjourn to the period of his arrival. His time, meanwhile, was spent lying in bed groaning, and dwelling anxiously on the hoped—for termination of the voyage. I didn't pity him. On the eleventh day we sighted Cape Portland, over which towered Mount Myrdals Yokul, which, the weather being clear, we made out very readily. The cape itself is nothing but a huge mount of granite standing naked and alone to meet the Atlantic waves. The kept off the coast, steering to the westward. On all sides were to be seen whole "schools" of whales and sharks. After some hours we came in sight of a solitary rock in the ocean, forming a mighty vault, through which the foaming waves poured with intense fury. The islets of Westman appeared to leap from the ocean, being so low in the water as scarcely to be seen until you were right upon them. From that moment the schooner was steered to the westward in order to round Cape Reykjanes, the western point of Iceland. Valkyrie My uncle, to his great disgust, was unable even to crawl on deck, so heavy a sea was on, and thus lost the first view of the Land of Promise. Forty-eight hours later, after a storm which drove us far to sea under bare poles, we came once more in sight of land, and were boarded by a pilot, who, after three hours of dangerous navigation, brought the schooner safely to an anchor in the bay of Faxa before Reykjavik. My uncle came out of his cabin pale, haggard, thin, but full of enthusiasm, his eyes dilated with pleasure and satisfaction. Nearly the whole population of the town was on foot to see us land. The fact was, that scarcely any one of them but expected some goods by the periodical vessel. Professor Hardwigg was in haste to leave his prison, or rather as he called it, his hospital; but before he attempted to do so, he caught hold of my hand, led me to the quarterdeck of the schooner, took my arm with his left hand, and pointed inland with his right, over the northern part of the bay, to where rose a high two-peaked mountain—a double cone covered with eternal snow. "Behold he whispered in an awe-stricken voice, behold—Mount Sneffels!" Then without further remark, he put his finger to his lips, frowned darkly, and descended into the small boat which awaited us. I followed, and in a few minutes we stood upon the soil of mysterious Iceland! Scarcely were we fairly on shore when there appeared before us a man of excellent appearance, wearing the costume of a military officer. He was, however, but a civil servant, a magistrate, the governor of the island—Baron Trampe. The Professor knew whom he had to deal with. He therefore handed him the letters from Copenhagen, and a brief conversation in Danish followed, to which I of course was a stranger, and for a very good reason, for I did not know the language in which they conversed. I afterwards heard, however, that Baron Trampe placed himself entirely at the beck and call of Professor Hardwigg. My uncle was most graciously received by M. Finsen, the mayor, who as far as costume went, was quite as military as the governor, but also from character and occupation quite as pacific. As for his coadjutor, M. Pictursson, he was absent on an episcopal visit to the northern portion of the diocese. We were therefore compelled to defer the pleasure of being presented to him. His absence was, however, more than compensated by the presence of M. Fridriksson, professor of natural science in the college of Reykjavik, a man of invaluable ability. This modest scholar spoke no languages save Icelandic and Latin. When, therefore, he addressed himself to me in the language of Horace, we at once came to understand one another. He was, in fact, the only person that I did thoroughly understand during the whole period of my residence in this benighted island. Out of three rooms of which his house was composed, two were placed at our service, and in a few hours we were installed with all our baggage, the amount of which rather astonished the simple inhabitants of Reykjavik. "Now, Harry," said my uncle, rubbing his hands, "an goes well, the worse difficulty is now over." "How the worse difficulty over?" I cried in fresh amazement. "Doubtless. Here we are in Iceland. Nothing more remains but to descend into the bowels of the earth." "Well, sir, to a certain extent you are right. We have only to go down—but, as far as I am concerned, that is not the question. I want to know how we are to get up again." "That is the least part of the business, and does not in any way trouble me. In the meantime, there is not an hour to lose. I am about to visit the public library. Very likely I may find there some manuscripts from the hand of Saknussemm. I shall be glad to consult them." "In the meanwhile," I replied, "I will take a walk through the town. Will you not likewise do so?" "I feel no interest in the subject," said my uncle. "What for me is curious in this island, is not what is above the surface, but what is below." I bowed by way of reply, put on my hat and furred cloak, and went out. It was not an easy matter to lose oneself in the two streets of Reykjavik; I had therefore no need to ask my way. The town lies on a flat and marshy plain, between two hills. A vast field of lava skirts it on one side, falling away in terraces towards the sea. On the other hand is the large bay of Faxa, bordered on the north by the enormous glacier of Sneffels, and in which bay the was then the only vessel at anchor. Generally there were one or two English or French gunboats, to watch and protect the fisheries in the offing. They were now, however, absent on duty. Valkyrie The longest of the streets of Reykjavik runs parallel to the shore. In this street the merchants and traders live in wooden huts made with beams of wood, painted red—mere log huts, such as you find in the wilds of America. The other street, situated more to the west, runs toward a little lake between the residences of the bishop and the other personages not engaged in commerce. I had soon seen all I wanted of these weary and dismal thoroughfares. Here and there was a strip of discolored turf, like an old worn-out bit of woolen carpet; and now and then a bit of kitchen garden, in which grew potatoes, cabbage, and lettuce, almost diminutive enough to suggest the idea of Lilliput. In the centre of the new commercial street, I found the public cemetery, enclosed by an earthen wall. Though not very large, it appeared not likely to be filled for centuries. From hence I went to the house of the Governor—a mere hut in comparison with the Mansion House of Hamburg—but a palace alongside the other Icelandic houses. Between the little lake and the town was the church, built in simple Protestant style, and composed of calcined stones, thrown up by volcanic action. I have not the slightest doubt that in high winds its red tiles were blown out, to the great annoyance of the pastor and congregation. Upon an eminence close at hand was the national school, in which were taught Hebrew, English, French, and Danish. In three hours my tour was complete. The general impression upon my mind was sadness. No trees, no vegetation, so to speak—on all sides volcanic peaks—the huts of turf and earth—more like roofs than houses. Thanks to the heat of these residences, grass grows on the roof, which grass is carefully cut for hay. I saw but few inhabitants during my excursion, but I met a crowd on the beach, drying, salting and loading codfish, the principal article of exportation. The men appeared robust but heavy; fair-haired like Germans, but of pensive mien—exiles of a higher scale in the ladder of humanity than the Eskimos, but, I thought, much more unhappy, since with superior perceptions they are compelled to live within the limits of the Polar Circle. Sometimes they gave vent to a convulsive laugh, but by no chance did they smile. Their costume consists of a coarse capote of black wool, known in Scandinavian countries as the "vadmel," a broad-brimmed hat, trousers of red serge, and a piece of leather tied with strings for a shoe—a coarse kind of moccasin. The women, though sad-looking and mournful, had rather agreeable features, without much expression. They wear a bodice and petticoat of somber vadmel. When unmarried they wear a little brown knitted cap over a crown of plaited hair; but when married, they cover their heads with a colored handkerchief, over which they tie a white scarf. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2006). A Journey to the Center of the Earth. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18857/18857-h/18857-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

OUR VOYAGE TO ICELAND

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE’S POCKET here CHAPTER XXII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE’S POCKET The “Carnatic,” setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan. She carried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied—those which had been engaged by Phileas Fogg. The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait, and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to totter to a seat on deck. It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows: Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for the smokers. Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed idea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off his torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness. Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he kept crying out, “The ‘Carnatic!’ the ‘Carnatic!’” The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting. Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank, he crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the “Carnatic” was moving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin, and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from China. Thus he found himself the next morning on the deck of the “Carnatic,” and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze. The pure air sobered him. He began to collect his sense, which he found a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the evening before, Fix’s revelation, and the opium-house. “It is evident,” said he to himself, “that I have been abominably drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed the steamer, which is the most important thing.” Then, as Fix occurred to him: “As for that rascal, I hope we are well rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on board the “Carnatic.” A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg, accused of robbing the Bank of England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am a murderer.” Should he divulge Fix’s real errand to his master? Would it do to tell the part the detective was playing? Would it not be better to wait until Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that an agent of the metropolitan police had been following him round the world, and have a good laugh over it? No doubt; at least, it was worth considering. The first thing to do was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologise for his singular behaviour. Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the rolling of the steamer, to the after-deck. He saw no one who resembled either his master or Aouda. “Good!” muttered he; “Aouda has not got up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners at whist.” He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout had only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master’s state-room. The purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg. “I beg your pardon,” said Passepartout persistently. “He is a tall gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young lady—” “There is no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser. “Here is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself.” Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not upon it. All at once an idea struck him. “Ah! am I on the ‘Carnatic?’” “Yes.” “On the way to Yokohama?” “Certainly.” Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat; but, though he was really on the “Carnatic,” his master was not there. He fell thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. He remembered that the time of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his master of that fact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was still more the fault of the traitor who, in order to separate him from his master, and detain the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled him into getting drunk! He now saw the detective’s trick; and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thought Passepartout tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a settling of accounts there would be! After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to study his situation. It was certainly not an enviable one. He found himself on the way to Japan, and what should he do when he got there? His pocket was empty; he had not a solitary shilling, not so much as a penny. His passage had fortunately been paid for in advance; and he had five or six days in which to decide upon his future course. He fell to at meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and himself. He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert, where nothing to eat was to be looked for. At dawn on the 13th the “Carnatic” entered the port of Yokohama. This is an important port of call in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and the Oriental islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a short distance from that second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor, absorbed his office in his own. The “Carnatic” anchored at the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of ships bearing the flags of all nations. Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the Sons of the Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama. He found himself at first in a thoroughly European quarter, the houses having low fronts, and being adorned with verandas, beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles. This quarter occupied, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all the space between the “promontory of the Treaty” and the river. Here, as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races, Americans and English, Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything. The Frenchman felt himself as much alone among them as if he had dropped down in the midst of Hottentots. He had, at least, one resource,—to call on the French and English consuls at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from telling the story of his adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of his master; and, before doing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid. As chance did not favour him in the European quarter, he penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo. The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens, and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles and yellowish cats, might have been gathered. The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado’s guards, enveloped in silken doubles, hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers of military folk of all ranks—for the military profession is as much respected in Japan as it is despised in China—went hither and thither in groups and pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads, long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from copper-colour to a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese widely differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages—carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and litters made of bamboo; nor the women—whom he thought not especially handsome—who took little steps with their little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs of worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests, teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in an enormous knot behind an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from the dames of Japan. Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the jewellery establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beverage was being drunk with “saki,” a liquor concocted from the fermentation of rice, and the comfortable smoking-houses, where they were puffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringy tobacco. He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations. There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with flowers which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes, but on trees, and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees, which the Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, and which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars were perched large eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping willows were herons, solemnly standing on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred, and which to their minds symbolise long life and prosperity. As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the shrubs. “Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.” But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless. “No chance there,” thought he. The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a breakfast as possible before leaving the “Carnatic;” but, as he had been walking about all day, the demands of hunger were becoming importunate. He observed that the butchers stalls contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and, knowing also that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely for farming, he made up his mind that meat was far from plentiful in Yokohama—nor was he mistaken; and, in default of butcher’s meat, he could have wished for a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some game or fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively. But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone the meal he craved till the following morning. Night came, and Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through the streets, lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who were executing skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers who stood in the open air with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbour, which was lit up by the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their boats. The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites, Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself: “Good! another Japanese embassy departing for Europe!” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, AND WHAT ENSUED here CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, AND WHAT ENSUED In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the line where the railway was still in process of being built. This line, owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia Mountains, did not pursue a straight course. The Parsee, who was quite familiar with the roads and paths in the district, declared that they would gain twenty miles by striking directly through the forest. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by the skilful Parsee; but they endured the discomfort with true British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch a glimpse of each other. As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast’s back, and received the direct force of each concussion as he trod along, he was very careful, in accordance with his master’s advice, to keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise have been bitten off short. The worthy fellow bounced from the elephant’s neck to his rump, and vaulted like a clown on a spring-board; yet he laughed in the midst of his bouncing, and from time to time took a piece of sugar out of his pocket, and inserted it in Kiouni’s trunk, who received it without in the least slackening his regular trot. After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at a neighbouring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs round about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief. “Why, he’s made of iron!” exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on Kiouni. “Of forged iron,” replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing a hasty breakfast. At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country soon presented a very savage aspect. Copses of dates and dwarf-palms succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite. All this portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented by travellers, is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in the most horrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have not been able to secure complete dominion over this territory, which is subjected to the influence of rajahs, whom it is almost impossible to reach in their inaccessible mountain fastnesses. The travellers several times saw bands of ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant striding across-country, made angry and threatening motions. The Parsee avoided them as much as possible. Few animals were observed on the route; even the monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces which convulsed Passepartout with laughter. In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the worthy servant. What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him? Impossible! The cost of transporting him would make him ruinously expensive. Would he sell him, or set him free? The estimable beast certainly deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him, Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much embarrassed; and these thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time. The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the evening, and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined bungalow. They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an equal distance still separated them from the station of Allahabad. The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful, provisions purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travellers ate ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a few disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores. The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself against the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to disturb the slumberers, although occasional growls from panthers and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more formidable beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg, he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion in Saville Row. The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped to reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose a part of the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of the tour. Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of the Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the open country, which lies along the first depressions of the basin of the great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east. They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated. At two o’clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended several miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods. They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished, when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped. It was then four o’clock. “What’s the matter?” asked Sir Francis, putting out his head. “I don’t know, officer,” replied the Parsee, listening attentively to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches. The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments. Passepartout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg patiently waited without a word. The Parsee jumped to the ground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket. He soon returned, saying: “A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must prevent their seeing us, if possible.” The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the same time asking the travellers not to stir. He held himself ready to bestride the animal at a moment’s notice, should flight become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid the thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed. The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and now droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals. The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred paces away; and the strange figures who performed the religious ceremony were easily distinguished through the branches. First came the priests, with mitres on their heads, and clothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded by men, women, and children, who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals by the tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels, the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each other. Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus, stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body coloured a dull red, with haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate and headless giant. Sir Francis, recognising the statue, whispered, “The goddess Kali; the goddess of love and death.” “Of death, perhaps,” muttered back Passepartout, “but of love—that ugly old hag? Never!” The Parsee made a motion to keep silence. A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round the statue; these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence their blood issued drop by drop—stupid fanatics, who, in the great Indian ceremonies, still throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at every step, followed. This woman was young, and as fair as a European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her form. The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists, and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man, gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince. Next came the musicians and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the noise of the instruments; these closed the procession. Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and, turning to the guide, said, “A suttee.” The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in the depths of the wood. The songs gradually died away; occasionally cries were heard in the distance, until at last all was silence again. Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the procession had disappeared, asked: “What is a suttee?” “A suttee,” returned the general, “is a human sacrifice, but a voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow at the dawn of day.” “Oh, the scoundrels!” cried Passepartout, who could not repress his indignation. “And the corpse?” asked Mr. Fogg. “Is that of the prince, her husband,” said the guide; “an independent rajah of Bundelcund.” “Is it possible,” resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not the least emotion, “that these barbarous customs still exist in India, and that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?” “These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India,” replied Sir Francis; “but we have no power over these savage territories, and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole district north of the Vindhias is the theatre of incessant murders and pillage.” “The poor wretch!” exclaimed Passepartout, “to be burned alive!” “Yes,” returned Sir Francis, “burned alive. And, if she were not, you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit to from her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her on a scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt; she would be looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die in some corner, like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful an existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice much more than love or religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is really voluntary, and it requires the active interference of the Government to prevent it. Several years ago, when I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission of the governor to be burned along with her husband’s body; but, as you may imagine, he refused. The woman left the town, took refuge with an independent rajah, and there carried out her self-devoted purpose.” While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times, and now said: “The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow at dawn is not a voluntary one.” “How do you know?” “Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund.” “But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any resistance,” observed Sir Francis. “That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and opium.” “But where are they taking her?” “To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the night there.” “And the sacrifice will take place—” “To-morrow, at the first light of dawn.” The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped upon his neck. Just at the moment that he was about to urge Kiouni forward with a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said, “Suppose we save this woman.” “Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!” “I have yet twelve hours to spare; I can devote them to that.” “Why, you are a man of heart!” “Sometimes,” replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; “when I have the time.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Stories, News & Mentions about SCARF

Scarf’s Stories on HackerNoon